


The Sword In The Stone

by XtaticPearl



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Magic-Users, Merlin Crossover, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-30 08:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11459724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/pseuds/XtaticPearl
Summary: Tony came to Camelot with dreams of learning only to become manservant and friend to a man far beyond his reach, imagination or understanding. Steve was raised to become the ruler of a hollow kingdom that condemned those with magic, but finds the deepest bond with a man who is the greatest sorcerer to walk the Earth. Through lies, friendship, and love, they must write the destiny of a new land with high-stake victories.





	1. The Dagger Of Flesh And Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PriyaxRishabh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PriyaxRishabh/gifts).



> This story is for Priya, the one person who was determined to get an STH commission with me. Thank you for trusting me and supporting my ideas! The base idea comes from the show Merlin but the characters are modified to suit the needed story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony comes to Camelot because of his uncle and finds himself staying because of him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for suicide, prejudice against magic, talks of execution, hints of bullying.

The entrance to Camelot was marked by a gnarly oak tree with a red length of cloth tied across two branches. It looked rigid, unwelcome, and mighty with measly bushes and shrubs dwarfing around it.

Tony tightened his grip on the fraying reins of his horse and resolutely didn't let his eyes wander to the man riding beside him on a raven horse. Comparing himself to a shrub and his uncle to an oak was the edge of insanity Tony didn't need to tease today, not while his eyes burnt with lack of sleep and his back ached with the long ride. The red kerchief around his neck was a tighter than he remembered and he pulled at it, squinting up at the sun to try and guess the time. They had passed the broken bridge right before lunch and the herder resting there had told them that they would reach Camelot before the sun reached overhead.

The sun glaring at him seemed to disagree with the herder and Tony sighed quietly, adjusting his kerchief before patting the neck of his horse. Dummy was the weakest of the foals that had been abandoned in his village when their king’s stables had caught fire. Ealdor had a large expanse of empty land and Tony remembered watching the stable boys hold the breeding horses and their foals in a restricted area across their homes. His friends had noticed a deep brown foal trotting around with its head held high and he had watched all the village kids comment on its beauty for days. On the day of herding the lot back to the royal stables, nobody had noticed a young colt, brown with white patches across its neck and pristine white legs. It had been stuck in the fence behind Angie’s small vegetable farm, one leg splintered and low, pitiful sounds trying to catch attention of any passerby.

Tony had found it a day later, feeble and tired with pain. The men from the royal stables had refused to take the horse in, stating that it would never be able to run again. Tony had begged his mother, hands twisted behind his back, to let him keep the foal. Obie, his uncle and the owner of their home, had scoffed at the idea but Maria had somehow agreed to it.

Dummy was the first living being who had seen Tony’s real form. The leg had healed in a week and everybody had called it a miracle. The young and mischievous foal was the only one who knew that it was Tony.

“Hush, just a few more paces,” he patted Dummy’s neck when the horse tossed his head a bit, “Honestly, you had more lunch than I did, and _you’re_ the fussy one.”

“Keep up, boy," Obie called out from where he had trotted ahead, his dark green shawl slipping off his shoulder, "We don't have all day."

Tony rolled his eyes at the back of the man who had dragged them here, and nudged Dummy to keep up. His ankle brushed the small bag he had saddled to the side and Tony could count with one hand the items he had been allowed to bring when he had set out to accompany Obie to Camelot. A pair of old tunics his mother had made him over the years, a small sheepskin bottle of ale Aunt Angie had sent for anyone Tony wanted to impress into a trade, a small dagger Happy had loaned him with a worried expression masking his grumpiness, and a letter. _The_ letter. The one Tony was supposed to give a certain Nicholas Fury, chief blacksmith of the main town, for some reason Tony's mother wouldn't say.

Obie was to not find out about the letter, another instruction from his strangely cryptic mother. Tony knew that his mother wasn't Obadiah's greatest believer, which was a common sentiment among those who knew the man, but this was an order he hadn't understood. He had kept the folded piece of paper carefully tucked in between his tunics though and now watched as they rode into the lower part of the kingdom. The streets were huddled with stalls, produce and trades strewn over the place, and he could spot traders with forced cheer and exasperation calling the people towards their wares. Obie wasn't usually interested in these markets though, and it showed in the way he didn't look around, ignoring the people below like they were invisible. Tony knew the way he did that - something he had become immune to by exposure. Happy grumbled that this was the reason Tony was louder than most, more likely to catch trouble than most, and definitely more cheeky than most.

"Tony," Obie called out and waited till Tony came up beside him before turning to him atop his horse, "I'm going to go check our arrangements with Lord Bain. We should be getting the royal advisor's audience soon with Lord Hammer's help, and possibly a good price for my goods as well. You should -," the balding man paused and eyed the market behind them with a mild distaste in his eyes, "- get everything settled in the inn assigned to us. Make sure to check and secure my belongings."

"Great," Tony muttered under his breath but nodded and got off Dummy, walking around to get to Obie's bags. He could probably argue and antagonise his 'uncle' but Tony was frankly too tired to deal with his schemes at the moment. He unloaded the twin bags off the saddled bunch and hefted them onto Dummy's saddle, tying them up tight with his own meagre luggage. Dummy whinnied a bit and Tony absently patted his flank before coming forward, looking up at Obie.

"Don't create trouble for me, Anthony," Obie nodded once with a smirk aimed at him before kicking at his horse to trot forward. Tony watched him go for a minute before he turned to face Dummy, who was trying to nuzzle at his kerchief.

“You can’t eat this, Dummy, you needy clump," he shook his head and pulled at the reins as he walked the horse towards the market side, intent on asking directions to the inn. The portly lady selling earthen pots at the market's entrance had a faint scowl on her face but directed him to the inn beside the blacksmith's forge and went back to yelling out her goods as Tony walked towards the place, eyeing the place around him. The innkeeper, a gaunt old man with fading red hair, eyed Tony's appearance with suspicion but nodded and showed him up to the room allotted, telling his son to tie Dummy to the shed along the inn. Tony had the option between resting a while and taking a walk around, something he pondered over as he rummaged his bag to stuff the kerchief that had been stifling his throat. When he stuffed the cloth into his bag, his hand brushed the letter and he paused.

"Might as well," he muttered under his breath, digging it out and shoving it into the band of cloth he had tied around his waist. Patting it once to press it against his tunic, he walked out of the cramped inn's room, skipping over the entrance steps. He had just turned to walk towards the market side when he bumped into buckets.

Or rather, someone carrying iron buckets.

A yelp slipped out his mouth as Tony staggered a couple of steps back and felt water splashing onto his pants. The man he had bumped into, a lavender shirt wearing black-haired one, fumbled in his balance before finding his feet.

"Oh! Oh, sorry, I wasn't - sorry," the man put his buckets down and reached out a hand towards Tony, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks," Tony wiped his hands down on his pants and grimaced a bit at their wetness, "Should probably change my pants before it sticks though. Not the best impression to show, if you walk into a new city and wet your pants within 5 minutes, right?"

"Not really," the man huffed slightly, his tired face creasing into a small hint of an amused smile as he took in Tony's appearance, "You're new to Camelot?"

"Just came in," Tony gestured a hand to the inn behind him and eyed the buckets the man had placed down, "You seem to have more water than you can hold there."

"A little lesser now," the man gestured to Tony's pants with a slight glint of humour in his eyes and Tony sighed dramatically but let his lips curve into a smile.

"If I had known that giving visitors a sudden bath was a norm here, I would have bent more," Tony pressed a hand to his heart and grinned when the man rolled his eyes, "Let you cover more area easily."

"Would do you a world of good," the man chuckled with a shake of his head and picked up his buckets, "Sorry again, I was in a rush and didn't look."

"Always ready for a free bath, good sir," Tony said with a flourish and extended a hand, "I'm Tony. Anthony but I prefer Tony from those who aren't old enough to be my parents."

The man eyed Tony's hand before looking down at his buckets and Tony was going to turn a handshake into a wave when he put a bucket down and clasped Tony's arm in a firm shake.

"Bruce," he said with a nod, "Bruce Banner. I work with the Royal Physician."

"A man of science!" Tony admired and withdrew his hand with a pat at Bruce's arm, "I'm a trader's help myself. Well, I say trader but he's more of my uncle than that."

Bruce nodded with an air of knowing, like it made sense and brushed a few errant curls off his forehead before picking up his bucket again.

"It was good to meet you, Tony," he said as he shifted the handle for a better grip and moved around Tony, "I hope you have a pleasant visit in Camelot."

"It is good to meet you too, Bruce," Tony nodded and turned around to watch as Bruce walked away, "Have fun with good old science!"

Sighing to himself, Tony eyed his clothes and considered his options. He could go back inside the inn, change and then try his luck with the blacksmith but that would take away more time. Once Obie was back, Tony doubted he would find time or opportunity to sneak out. Throwing a glance at the path Bruce had walked down, Tony took his chance and turned the other way around, ready to go meet the blacksmith at the forge nearby.

The door to the forge was closed and Tony mentally debated his choices when someone tapped his shoulder. Turning around, he met the curious eyes of a blonde woman.

"Looking for Nick?" she asked and Tony cleared his throat, eyeing over her shoulder before meeting her eyes again.

"Yeah, is Nicholas Fury in?"

"Nicholas?" the lady asked with a raised eyebrow, looking over Tony with a quick glance before she wore an amused expression, "Well, you must be new. Nobody calls him that here."

"I'm visiting," Tony shrugged mildly and looked back at the closed door, "Any idea where I could find him?"

"He'll be out in the market right now, possibly in Phil's shop," she said and tilted her head curiously, "If you need something repaired or forged you could tell me, I'll let him know."

"You'll -" Tony looked dubious and the lady smiled.

"I live with him, I'm his ward," she said and Tony jerked his chin up in understanding, "He won't be in for a while, he has a standing hour with Phil every week. Can I help you?"

"I wish, my lady," Tony smiled and the lady's eyes widened in surprise, "but I'll have to meet him alone. I'll go down to find him, I think. Thank you, though."

"As you wish," the lady said with a faint smile before eyeing Tony's wet pants and her smile grew into a repressed grin, "You, ah, have interesting choice of attire for a visitor."

"One must strive to make a distinct impression anywhere one goes, I am afraid," Tony quipped with a disarming grin, noting the way the lady's eyes twinkled knowingly, "Camelot already seems to be full of interesting and inexplicably charming people, so someone like me had to try something different to stand out, of course."

"Wet pants?" the lady asked with a laugh in her voice and Tony shrugged with his best innocent expression.

"You learn something new every day," he said sagely and the lady raised an eyebrow but her expression remained amused.

"Of course," she nodded, playing along, and wiped her hand on a cloth tucked into the belt of her dress, "Well, if I find Nick before you, I'll be sure to tell him you came.."

Tony caught on and jerked when he realised that she was waiting for his name.

"Anthony, my name is Anthony," he said and nodded instead of offering his hand, "Or Tony, if he'd recognise that instead."

"I'm Sharon," she said, "Is he expecting you today?"

"I hope so," Tony replied and took a step back, "I'll best be on my way, my lady."

"Ah that, I'm no - I'm not a lady," Sharon grinned sheepishly and watched as Tony got out of the Forge's overhead shed.

"You look like one, and you seem like one," Tony laughed and did a quick bow, "If others don't see it, then woe is unto them, my lady Sharon. Let them be the losers, shall we?"

"You charm too much for good," Sharon laughed and shook her head but Tony shot her a grin as he walked backwards.

"Better to be charming than dull," he shot back and waved as he turned on his heel and walked on to find Phil's shop, quick steps clicking down the cobbled pathway. There was a scuffle between two drunks by the common water-pump and a huddle of women were loudly discussing prices of produce. Tony winked at a little girl who giggled as she ran past him with her younger sister and shot an awkward smile at a curious looking old woman who sat beside a stall with trinkets and cheap jewellery spread out in front of her on a cloth. Ealdor had no such large markets or bustling crowds, and Tony hadn't ever visited a major kingdom before. Obie always left him to tend to the small farm or repair the small tools of other farmers while he was gone on his long trade tours. He had asked more than once to accompany on the trips but Obie always shot him a pitying and condescending look, like Tony was some abandoned woodland creature he was raising out of mercy. Maria would usually hush Tony when he complained about it at home but Maria also never outright encouraged him to travel elsewhere before this trip, so Tony didn't dwell on her silence much longer.

A little while later Tony realised that he had skipped out on finding Phil's shop and was no wandering aimlessly, taking in the sights and people more than the route to his destination. He had seen the same group of children thrice through his walk and had certainly come across the surly looking potter twice on his way, but he felt better and freer so he kept walking. He had just rounded up around the end of the lower town and was about to walk towards the building that read a direction to a library when he caught sight of a group gathering a few feet away. Curious despite himself, he walked over and stood beside a tall man wearing a slightly torn tunic.

"What's going on?" he asked, craning his neck to look beyond the men standing before him.

"It's the Physician's boy," the man sighed and shook his head, "Lad just doesn't know to steer clear of trouble."

"Physician's - Banner? Bruce Banner?" Tony asked with a frown as he remembered the man he had met a while ago.

"The same," the man beside him nodded with a snort, "Looks like it's going to be another long session with the prince for him today."

Tony made a face and shuffled forwards, making his way to the front of the crowd and saw Bruce with a couple of other men, them wearing chain-mail and clearly looking like they had been in the middle of some training. Bruce held a bucket in one hand but his shirt was drenched, completely stuck to his body, and he was frustratedly but politely arguing with one of the royal looking men, a blond one. The blond man held the other bucket in his hand, holding it away from Bruce's reach and was shaking his head at Bruce, jerking the bucket away every time Bruce took a step forward.

Tony's spine chilled and he felt a moment of annoyance warring with rage at what he had pieced together. He didn't know Bruce any more than he knew anybody in this kingdom but he could see things clearly. Tony had been in Bruce's shoes enough back in Ealdor to know what bullying looked like. He knew what it felt like when stronger or bigger kids poked, prodded, and played with him to have their bit of fun instead of in good fun. Happy had always told Tony that he wasn't targeted as special, but Happy also followed him around like a shadow with a watchful expression, so the contradicting words were futile. For a minute, Tony saw the kids at Ealdor instead of the blond man. Then it shifted into Obie, and Tony felt his gut tighten.

He didn't know Banner but he knew bullying and Tony had never been famous for his control, so he wasn't surprised when his mouth opened and he heard himself yell.

"Hey! How about you go play with someone your own type!"

Tony could feel everybody freeze and didn't know when he had taken a step forward, but clearly he had, because he now stood alone. The blond stilled and so did Bruce, but the latter looked mildly disgruntled and blinked while the blond turned around to look at Tony.

Well, Sir Clotpole clearly had some muscles to spare, Tony thought inanely as he assessed the guy before clearing his throat and taking another step forward.

"What did you just say?" the blond man asked, his voice smooth with a tinge of shock in it.

"I _said_ that you've had your bit," Tony said, and now he moved forward easily, moving till he placed himself near Bruce and stared at the blond man, "It's not always fun to play around with people unlike you, my friend."

"Friend?" the man shifted his stance and lowered the bucket, narrowing his eyes at Tony, "Do I know you?"

"Clearly not," Tony said with a mock serious expression, subtly placing himself in front of Bruce, "I'm sure I would remember someone like you if I had met you before. And you would _certainly_ remember me if you had met _me_ before."

"That sounds unfortunate," the man said and stepped forward, blue eyes assessing Tony as he raised his chin a fraction, "because _I_ would clearly not like to remember someone who would interrupt a conversation with such ..."

"Charm," Tony supplied as he smirked a bit, noting the bucket with the corner of his eye.

"Arrogance," the man corrected and raised his eyebrow, "Do you know who you're talking to?"

"The Bucket Knight?" Tony shrugged and ignored the sharp inhale from behind him, "Does the king know that his knights now carry buckets for weapons? What do you do, knock your enemies out and then wear these as your victory crowns? Hide under them in disguise?"

"You speak sharp for someone so blunt," the man remarked drily and placed the bucket down before straightening, "Or do you challenge people merely with words?"

"A fist fight? That seems harmful," Tony paused and allowed the man to begin rolling his eyes before he continued, "for you."

"You think you'd take me in a fight?" the man asked, amused annoyance clear on his face.

"That's something you'd not like to know, I assure you, Sir Bucket Knight," Tony said and heard a muffled laugh from somewhere. The blond's jaw tightened and he took a step back, shifting his stance.

"If so, then have at it," he said, gesturing towards Tony, "Come on, take your best shot."

"You think I'm afraid to hit a little old knight?" Tony asked, even though this man was neither little nor old.

"Take your shot," the man repeated and Tony knew that he could either land a punch or get hit first himself. Mentally shrugging and hoping Bruce's physician skills would prove good after a hit, Tony clenched his fist and pulled back before letting loose a punch.

Only to have his hand caught and twisted around his back in a sharp, swift motion. With his body forcibly turned around, Tony struggled a bit but noticed Bruce looking stunned and clearly mortified.

"Are you done, yet?" the blond asked behind him, hand still holding Tony's wrist tight and Tony grunted in vain.

"You think I'm afraid of a little arm-twisting? Who do you think you are, the king?" he snarled and tried to free himself but bit back a wince when the pressure only tightened around his wrist.

"No, the _prince_ ," the man said and Tony stilled, "Steven."

Tony's eyes met Bruce's and he could clearly read what the man was trying to express.

_He was absolutely done for now._

-x-x-x-

Steve was minutes away from teaching the dumb idiot who had challenged him a good lesson when the bell gonged loudly and he looked up, watching as the guards came to announce that King Phillips was ready to announce the execution of a sorcerer. His grip loosened on the man's wrist and Steve took a step back, gut clenching at the prospect of witnessing another death to the rules of Camelot. The man wrenched his hand free and stumbled back but Steve had lost interest in continuing the fight and instead nodded at Sir Timothy, who was standing aside, before rushing towards the central square. His eyes darted between the people who were huddling forward in groups, discussing among themselves speculations and gossip about the new victim to Camelot's anger against magic.

"Good day, sire," he heard a voice and glanced to his right to see Nick Fury catch up to him, keeping stride as they walked towards the square.

"Hello, Nick," Steve nodded and looked forward, "Any idea who the new lamb is?"

"It was said that the guards found Marcus, one of the maids' brother, absorbing the light from a campfire in the early morning," Nick said, no tone of emotion in his voice but his good eye travelled sharply over the people swarming to get a good spot in the crowd gathering around the execution site, "The council has no one against the verdict nor proof to find him innocent."

"If he did use sorcery within the walls of Camelot, then innocence can rarely be expected," Steve said through a tight throat and nodded once at Nick before hurrying up to the steps of the entrance, where the other knights stood. He settled into his spot, nodding at the knight next to him before squaring his shoulders and exhaling slowly. The guards were dragging in a young man with fair eyes and dark hair across the square. The man was muscled from daily work and stared defiantly at the balcony where the King stood, staring down impassively with his dark eyes calm and unrevealing. Steve knew that if he looked up at the tower beyond the main castle, the one to his right, he would catch a quiet figure watching from the window, red hair loose around the shoulders and jade eyes taking in another death with a mix of anguish and acceptance.

He would have to avoid Natasha’s gaze at dinner tonight, Steve thought absently as the guards looped the noose around the man’s neck atop the execution spot.

“Have you anything to say, sorcerer?” the King asked, voice carrying over the silence like a death knell but the man laughed, a bitter clashing of scorn and sober reality.

“To the men maddened by the past and the royalty doomed to no future?” the man, Marcus, answered and his gaze never wavered from the King’s spot, “The only thing you should hear is a warning, Chester! Beware of your present. Today, a new dawn has been born and it might not end as you would wish it to. Watch the sun shine even as you dwell in darkness, my lord! The rays will only grow stronger!”

Steve restrained himself from shaking his head but watched the King nod to the executioner and the executioner gripped the lever tight.

Steve didn’t blink as the sound of a neck snapping echoed through the morbid quiet of the square.

“Sire,” a guard spoke and Steve looked to his left, “The King requires you to meet him in the court hall for an audience with some traders.”

Steve dismissed him with a nod and exhaled hard before walking up the steps to the castle’s door. He thought he heard Nick yell at someone from behind but he kept his eyes forward and crossed the distance towards the place he had learnt to call home in the last eighteen years.

Steve didn’t remember the last time he had felt maudlin about a sorcerer’s death. It had become as much an accepted reality as a necessary law laid by the king, Chester Phillips, all those years ago at the end of the Great War. Steve hadn’t seen it himself, being a newborn babe when Chester had taken over the kingdom after Steve’s father had been killed. The threats of sorcery and dark magic had swallowed the land as whole and Steve had heard enough tales from his tutors to know that it would have drowned Camelot had Chester not enforced a hard hand of control.

Eighteen years of constant vigilance and diligent upholding of the law had kept Camelot strong against another threat of magical uprising. Hydra, the devious cult of magic and sorcery that had once threatened to take over Camelot, now lay subdued and destroyed. Steve had grown up under the care of the King, his oldest uncle and the guardian of the kingdom till Steve was crowned heir to the throne officially. King Phillips had raised him to follow the Knight’s Code and be the ideal prince of Camelot, always drilling the same advice into him - never trust magic.

Steve had lost both his parents to it and he knew well enough that magic never brought anyone any good. It was a force of oppression, of bullying those who couldn’t match up to it, and Steve would always fight to never let that happen in his kingdom.

Walking into the court hall, Steve saw the King discussing with Lord Stern, the trading advisor.

“You called for me, sire?” Steve asked with a cursory nod at Stern, looking straight at the King.

“Yes, Steven,” Chester straightened in his throne and waved Steve over, “Come, join us. I’d like you to be present for our trading presentation today. We have some wonderful armours and shield to be shown, apparently. Choose what you wish for yourself and your knights.”

Steve took his place to the left of Chester and eyed the half empty court with a bored eye. He never did like these audiences, with their loud empty laughter and false charming from the traders. He had swallowed many a cringes when traders had extolled the virtues of swords as being strong enough to kill at one blow, or shields as being strong enough to block the sharpest swords. Steve wished he could make people understand that fights weren’t won by swords but by swordsmen. There was no sword special enough to guarantee a win.

He bit back a sigh and let his mind numb over as the first trader made his appearance. A balding man with a sickly smile, he bowed low to the King and introduced himself as Obadiah Stane from Ealdor.

When the first false laugh hit, Steve knew that it would be a long day.

-x-x-x-

“What do you mean ‘you didn’t know’?” Nick demanded and Tony made a face at Bruce as the man shook his head at Tony while assessing his wrist, “You just walked in and decided to pick a fight? With the prince?”

“And accused him of being a bully,” Bruce added helpfully and Tony clicked his tongue.

“Such betrayal after I tried to save you, my dear Bru-ah!” Tony yelped when Bruce pressed into the minor bruising and caught a sardonic look on the man’s face.

“I was fine, he wasn’t _bullying_ me,” Bruce repeated for the fourth time since he had caught hold of Tony after the sickening execution, “I clashed into him and poured water all over myself. And he was _offering_ to draw water for me since he had caused it to fall.”

“He was holding a bucket over his head,” Tony said drily, looking at Nick for support, “Does that ever look like offering to help?”

“You’d be surprised,” Nick said with a deadpan expression and looked at Bruce, “He’s alright, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, yes,” Bruce said and let go of Tony’s hand, a mildly amused glint in his eyes, “Well, physically, at least.”

Tony wiped mock tears off his cheeks and Bruce rolled his eyes. Nick looked like he was inches away from smacking the back of Tony’s head but nodded at Bruce before tugging on Tony’s arm once and gesturing him to follow. Tony waved at Bruce and got a wave in return before he turned to follow the blacksmith he had found in the most inopportune time.

“So,” Tony shot Nick a quick glance before walking beside him, “Is there a reason they call you Fury?”

“Not one you want to find out,” Nick snorted and pointed to a house across the square, at the end of an alley, “Go there, I’ll come in a minute.”

“What is that? An evil lair?” Tony asked and then raised his hands in surrender when Nick shot him a look with his good eye, “Not that you’re evil, or look evil. One eyed men aren’t all evil, and not that I’ve _met_ many one-eyed men, but it isn’t that -”

“Just go”

“Right,” Tony clapped his hands once and rushed off, clenching and unclenching his hand as he walked towards the shown house. It was a cozy hovel, the door simply closed without being bolted, and Tony pushed it open to get inside. He looked around, curious about the woven partition in the middle of the home, a bed to the other side while another bed lay in the corner by the small place for fire. A shabbily arranged shelf held pots and pans, a few mud vases holding flowers along the window sill, a stray shirt hung on the wall, and a trunk could be spied under the bed nearest to the door. It looked lived in, a home more than a hovel, and Tony walked around as he took in the details of the place.

The door creaked open and he turned to see Nick enter, dusting his hands and taking in Tony’s form in the middle of the home.

“You said you had a letter in the Square,” he said as he came in and Tony dug into his cloth waist-tie to remove the parchment, handing it over to Nick and pretending that he wasn’t watching him read.

“How is Maria?” Nick asked as his eye roamed over the content of the letter, “I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“She’s fine, well, as fine as she can be,” Tony replied, fingers skirting over a chair as he walked around it, “She never mentioned you before this visit. She never mentioned anyone from Camelot, to be fair, so I’m surprised you say you know her well.”

“Not well,” Nick shrugged as he folded the parchment after reading and tucking it into his shirt, “But yes, I did know her when we were younger. She was the daughter of my father’s friend. I remember her leaving Camelot when she was quite young.”

“She told me you could help me with some work,” Tony said and Nick looked up, a strange glint in his eye as he observed Tony.

“Yes, it seems she did,” the older man said with a faraway tone to his voice before his gaze turned more focused, “Well, you’re here for a visit with your uncle, aren’t you? I’ll see what I can do before you leave.”

“Right, sure,” Tony hid his disappointment and glanced away, a shield lying against the wall catching his eye, “You work for the King, then?”

“Everybody works for the King,” Nick replied and Tony nodded in absent agreement.

“Yes, but you create weapons for him?”

“You seem interested,” Nick commented and Tony looked back at him, trying to put on a casual shrug.

“I just...like working with metal,” he said and Nick’s lips quirked into the smallest of smirks before his expression cleared out.

“I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow morning,” Nick said and walked around Tony towards the shelf that was a makeshift kitchen, “In the meanwhile, stay out of trouble and look around.”

“I didn’t go looking for trouble, really,” Tony clarified but Nick scoffed and held out a piece of sweet bun.

“Despite what you may think, young man, the world’s trouble isn’t always yours,” he said and Tony took the bun with a sheepish grin, “And you aren’t the largest of _my_ troubles, so don’t go around trying to be it, alright?”

“Has anyone told you that it’s strange to know which eye to look at while talking to you?” Tony asked with a sly grin and bit into the bun before moving around Nick towards the door, “Alright, alright, I’ll come back tomorrow! Maybe even figure out where to look when I speak to you!”

“Go be useful!” Nick laughed a bit and shooed Tony out of the hovel, pulling the letter out as he shut the door behind him. Tony wondered what exactly his mother had written but left the thought when he realized that he was probably late by now, and Obie could be coming in anytime.

He picked up his pace and rushed to the inn, marking his entry into Camelot as an interesting impression for the moment.

That night, Tony lay awake on the inn room’s floor, hearing Obie snore atop the bed and eyed the peeling ceiling with a thousand thoughts jumbling his mind. He didn’t know why but his memory flashed to an old summer, the first time he had watched the parade of the royal guards and the king march through the streets of Ealdor, on their way to some meeting with a neighbouring kingdom. Happy, at that time shorter than Tony, had been awestruck by the ornate flags and the capes of the royal crowd while Tony’s eyes had been stuck on the large shields the guards carried in front of them, bearing the symbol of Essetir. They were gleaming, like the armour the front knights wore, and they glinted under the light of the noon sun. There were long swords saddled to their horses and crossbows attached to their bags. Tony had eyed them with wonder and had dreamt of one day wielding those himself. Of crafting them with his hands, of creating them sharpest and strongest in the kingdom.

He remembered Maria’s pinched expression from that day, when he had excitedly told her his dream. Obie had smiled, false edges to his lips and a darkness to his eyes, and had taken Tony to his work. He never allowed Tony to create weapons but made him repair the metal the villagers brought from time-to-time, always telling Tony that people had to learn what they were destined to do and Tony was destined to fix what was broken not create something new.

Tony shifted onto his side and looked at the sky visible through the small open window. It was dark out there, with the starlight alien from the one he had grown up under. He didn’t know if he liked it, but it didn’t make him miss home though. Nothing much did, not when home had become a bit alien to him after so many years. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, trying to see his mother and his village behind his eyes, to see beyond today. There were blurs and orange shades, faded images like his mother’s smile in the firelight or Happy’s surly pout in a hot day, but he couldn’t see a home. He breathed out and kept his eyes closed, determined to keep the fading blurs in sight.

When he heard a scrape against the wooden floor, Tony didn’t tense but knew that Obie had gotten up. He kept his eyes closed and heard the room’s door open before a soft swoosh told him that it had been shut.

He opened his eyes and turned around to see that the bed was empty. Getting up, Tony went to the window and looked down, squinting at a hooded figure walking out of the inn towards the part of the main castle where the royal guards and nobles lived.

“What’s he doing there?” Tony muttered under his breath and looked back at the empty bed. He walked towards it and frowned at the bed in confusion when his eye caught a parchment peeking from under the pillow. Curious, Tony pulled it out and opened it, skimming through the short message and felt a strange sense of foreboding settle in his chest. The note was signed by some ‘S’ and it called for a meeting at the base of the tower bell. It also spoke about some dagger and Tony didn’t know much about Camelot but he knew that any meeting called in such an hour was one involving things that should never see the light of day.

“Here we go again,” he sighed remembering Nick’s words from earlier even as he moved to pull on a shirt and wear his footwear before slipping out of the room, hoping that Obie wasn’t up to something that would cost them more than they could pay.

It wasn’t difficult to follow the path Obie had gone up, and Tony soon found himself cursing the cold as he hid under behind a pillar of the tower. He could see the outline of Obie a few feet away, talking heatedly to a lady, one wearing finer clothes. Tony strained his ears to make sense of the conversation.

He felt his blood run cold when he heard the lady hiss something about murder.

“..no other way to do it,” the woman whispered, sounding agitated, “The Mandarin will not forgive another failure and he will not forgive _you_ if you don’t do this. Don’t forget that, Stane.”

“Yeah, it’s easy for you to say,” Obie grunted back, voice coming muffled like he was wiping his face down with a hand, “We’re talking about the king and the prince. It’s not a child’s play.”

“And you are no child,” the woman shot back, sounding knowing, “It isn’t like this is your first time. Anyway, you already have the boy as your safety if things go wrong.”

“That idiot’s no help,” Obie scoffed and Tony _knew_ that he was talking about him, “He’ll be a better scapegoat than help.”

“Whatever you choose,” the woman said and they heard a stone hit the pavement, “What’s that?”

Tony heard the shuffle of feet and Obie shushing the woman before a loud laugh disturbed the silence of the street. Someone was coming.

“Go,” she, the _S_ hissed, “Go before someone comes! And don’t forget your mission tomorrow, Obadiah. Finish it or _he_ will finish you.”

Tony huddled closer to the shadows of his spot and held his breath as he heard Obie’s footsteps move away and then heard a loud drunk stumble along the way. He held his breath for a minute, heart racing beneath his sternum and then rushed towards the inn, hoping to reach before Obie could.

The same Obie who was possibly going to try and kill the King the next day.

Tony didn’t sleep that night and dreamt of an unseen man’s execution muddling into a dead king that faded into a bleeding prince.

He lay still on the floor of his room and waited for a terrifying dawn.

-x-x-

The court of Camelot was cold, Tony observed when he stepped into it, being shooed to the sides by the guards as the traders lined up for their rewards and interactions with the King before they left for the great exhibition at the market. The windows were draped in the royal colours and there were sentries posted at the doors.

Tony didn’t feel a lick of security with anything, his mind working in furious pace as he tried to place last night’s information in perspective. He had spent the entire night throwing around different scenarios in his head about Obie and the hint of what might happen today. He had grown up with Obie, had hated him for many things but had also had him as an uncle throughout his life. Tony had never met his father but Obie had occasionally told him that he resembled him; had raised him in however a broken way he had.

Obie was his family, for better or worse, but he was also apparently a murderer. One who had done it before, if the overheard conversation could be made sense of.

Tony looked at Obie smiling at the King from his spot and felt the confusion in his gut churn again as he tried to imagine it to be a figment of his imagination or a misunderstanding.

“I thought I recognized you,” a voice said and Tony jerked, looking behind to see Sharon stand behind him, an amused smile on her face, “Hello, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, no, I - hello,” Tony put on a shaky smile and moved to the side to let Sharon come forward, “I was just thinking something.”

“About yesterday?” Sharon asked and Tony’s eyes widened but Sharon didn’t notice, “Nick told me about your fight with Steven. Quite an eventful first day in the kingdom.”

Tony shrugged with a false smile and clapped automatically as the crowds did for something the King did.

“It’s just my luck,” he said, still clapping, “and a bit of foolishness.”

“I thought it was quite brave,” Sharon said and Tony shot her a side glance, “but yes, foolish too.”

“Brave foolishness?” he asked and Sharon laughed before shooting him a teasing look.

“Maybe settle for foolish bravery,” she suggested and nodded at a red haired woman who looked at her, “Ah, I think I’m needed.”

“What did you think about the prince?” Tony asked, not really knowing why but letting the words fall as he noted the blond prince follow his King, greeting another trader.

Sharon paused and looked curiously at Tony before shrugging.

“Well, I don’t really know,” she hedged before a thoughtful look fell on her face, “but it seemed that he meant more good than harm.”

“How neutral,” Tony commented with a small smile and Sharon huffed good naturedly before waving and quietly moving towards the noble looking red haired woman. Tony turned back away from Sharon and breathed out tight as he watched the King interact with his guests. His eyes strayed to Obie and he didn’t know what to make of the calm demeanour of the man. Did murderers look so calm before an attack? Was Tony really wrong in his conclusion?

He crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his armpit, hoping they would stop feeling so cold. Even if Obie did attack, there was no way he would get away with it under so many guards’ watch. He swallowed hard and tried to convince his brain of this assurance.

It failed though when Tony heard the King announce the entertainment for the day, a Lady Sunset, one of Camelot’s finest singers. The moment Tony heard her sing through a smile, he recognized the voice from the night before.

This was her. The lady Obie had met in the night.

“ _Oculi dormietis_

_et plena somnia in mentibus,_

_in somnis, o carissimi,_

_exaudi me dicent magicae_ ”

Tony watched with growing horror as people started falling asleep and immediately realized that it was the song. He shut his ears and shuffled forwards, to the edge of the wall, avoiding the drooping guards and other servants standing there. Everybody was falling asleep and Tony noted that Obie was still standing, a macabre smirk growing on his face. The lady stopped singing once everyone had fallen asleep and Tony leaned against the wall, trying to stay still and fool them into thinking he was asleep too. He watched as Obie reached up and removed pieces of cotton from his ears, throwing them aside before unsheathing an ornate dagger from his under his jacket. He was going to do it, Tony realized with absolute terror, he was actually going to kill the King or the Prince.

The lady, a sorceress by the looks of things, smirked and gestured at Obie towards the chair where the prince sat and bent low to retrieve a sword from one of the fallen guards nearby.

Tony felt a rush in his ears as he understood that the only chance anybody stood was him. He didn’t have skill or dagger to fight against Obie or the sorceress but -

But he had something he didn’t know much about and yet knew well enough in his bones. Something he had once promised to never use.

_“You must make me a promise, Anthony,” Maria said, eyes steady while her fingers shook in their grasp of his shoulders, “You must promise me, you will never show this to anyone. You will never let anyone see this part of you.”_

_“I...”_ _  
_ _“Anthony, please,” she insisted firmly and he swallowed hard before nodding._

Tony swallowed tightly as he remembered a promise he had made years ago and clenched his hands into a fist as he closed his eyes. Obie was gripping the dagger in one hand and walking towards the prince and the sorceress was removing the sword from a guard’s sheath. He had no time, no time to make choices or debate decisions.

Unclenching his hand, Tony opened his eyes and leaned away from the wall. Staring at the lady, he let the fire in him glow, the power that was born with him flow through his bones and his eyes shone golden. The rattling of the chandelier stilled Obie in his path and the lady froze in her bent pose before looking up. Tony didn’t flinch as he let it fall on top of her, sending her crashing into the ground with a scream. The scream shattered the spell and Tony watched the people slowly come awake even as Obie stood frozen to his spot, a dagger raised in his hand.

Obie must have realized the same because his face contorted into an ugly sneer and he threw the dagger at the prince from where he stood. Tony felt himself move even before a thought fully formed and his eyes glowed golden again briefly as time itself seem to slow down, allowing Tony to rush towards the prince who was just waking from his sleep. Tony slammed into him and pulled him down hard, yanking him by his shoulders and falling backwards under the weight of the man. The dagger hit the spot right where the prince’s head had been seconds later.

Tony’s head slammed against the ground and he groaned at the impact, folding into himself when the prince’s elbow dug into his stomach.

“Guards!” the King commanded a second later and Tony turned his head to the side to see five guards rush to capture Obie as Obie himself shot Tony a betrayed look.

“You will pay for this, Anthony!” Obie snarled and dashed to pick up another sword off the ground, from where it had fallen off Lady Sunset’s hand, “You saved the wrong man!”

Tony tried to scramble up from under the prince but Obie had already understood that he would be captured, and instead of fighting he drove the sword into himself. Tony felt his breath catch in his throat and fumbled as he got up, eyes fixed on the fallen body of his ‘uncle’.

“Who was he?” the King demanded and turned to Tony as he stood near the prince who was now staring at him too, “Who are you, boy? Who was he to you?”

“My uncle,” Tony said in a distant voice, feeling like he was speaking from underwater, “He was my uncle. I - he was my employer. I didn’t - he never -”

“How did you know that he was going to kill Steven?”

Tony felt hysteria build inside him but shook his head vehemently.

“I didn’t, I - I just saw him throw and - reacted,” he said, clenching his hands tight in an attempt to make them stop shivering.

“Reacted, is it?” the king asked and huffed before turning to face Tony completely, an oddly impressed look on his face, “Well, you just saved the prince’s life with your reaction. That was impressive.”

“Sire, I -” Tony shook his head, not knowing what he wanted to say but the king spoke over him.

“This should be rewarded,” he declared and clapped the prince on his shoulder, “What do you work as, boy?”

“Nothing,” Tony answered, knowing that it was the truth now considering that Obie was dead. A hysterical laugh bubbled again and he swallowed hard, avoiding a glance the dead body’s way.

“Good,” the king nodded and turned towards the crowd, “This boy saved the prince, despite the murderer being his family. Such bravery should be rewarded, as always in Camelot. Looking at the weight of the action and the merit, I hereby award him the position of manservant to the prince!”

“What?” the prince blurted out, looking shocked and confused but the people had already begun cheering and Tony felt the numbness set in from the entire confusion. He shot a look the prince’s way and looked away when he met a reflection of horror and annoyance in blue royal eyes.

He looked around and caught sight of a worried looking Sharon who shot him a hesitant smile.

Tony imagined that his returned smile must look as grotesque as he felt.

When the crowd dispersed and Tony tumbled out of the court, a hand snagged his arm and he whirled to see Sharon holding him.

“Nick wants to see you,” she said and Tony let out an involuntary sound that sounded like a giggle. He figured that his hysteria was well near the breaking point. Sharon pointed him towards a corridor and gently pushed him along when he didn’t move at first.

Tony walked by rote and reached the corner of the corridor when Nick moved into sight, his face set in grim lines.

“I found a job,” Tony said inanely, tears stinging his eyes even as a manic laugh threatened to break out of his mouth.

Nick stared at him and sighed with a slightly sad expression before moving forward and holding Tony’s shoulder in a firm grasp, grounding him calmly.

“Then it looks like you need a home now,” he said and Tony let out a muffled high sound that Nick buried when he gathered Tony into his own shoulder, pressing his hand into the boy’s neck, “And you have one already.”

“What?”

“I told you I’ll have your answer today,” Nick said and patted Tony’s arm with his free hand, “Looks like it’s a yes.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because you need it,” Nick sighed and muttered in a lower tone, “And we also need to discuss your little trick of today.”

Tony finally broke and let his laughter mask his tears as the fact sunk in that he had lost a part of his family and probably gotten trapped in the one place where he should never have come.

The one place which his mother had considered example when she had demanded a promise all those years ago.

The one place where Tony had seen a man with magic being executed.

A man like himself.

And he was now destined to be the _manservant_ to the _prince_ of that place.

He laughed and let his tears dry under his destiny’s new trick.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting the rest of the chapters as soon as I find time. Till then, enjoy the beginning. <3


	2. A Noxious Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tournament is held to celebrate the knights of all lands, and an unpleasant visitor plans to make it morbid even as Steve and Tony finally begin to know each other.

“This is terrible,” Tony declared as he eyed the chain-mail Nick had gotten to repair, now lying abandoned on the work table, “No, honestly, this is truly terrible.”

“Good to know,” Nick grunted from where he was hefting a sheet of armour onto his station, “Don’t you have your work to go to?”

“The prince came in late last night,” Tony dismissed the suggestion, picking up the chain-mail and observing its design, “He also got hit multiple times during the training yesterday, so I am betting that he’ll sleep in for a while today.”

“You know him for two weeks now,” Nick replied, turning around to stare at Tony who simply shrugged.

“And yet we have managed to survive all through the weeks without killing each other,” he said and shot Nick a smile that was clearly not received well, “What? C’mon, he’s the one who told me to get out of his sight last night. I’m just following orders. Not getting into his sight.”

“So when he reports your tardiness to the king,” Nick coughed and smoothed down the armour before picking up his hammer, “You’ll tell him that you simply followed orders?”

“Of course,” Tony paused and looked up at Nick’s back, “not? That would be a straight ticket to the dungeons, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, you seem to have  _ some _ brains then,” Nick quipped and began hammering the armour back to shape. Tony rolled his eyes and put the chain-mail back down, wiping his hands on his tunic and leaning against the table as he watched Nick work. 

It had been a mixed bag of two weeks for Tony ever since he had joined as the prince’s manservant. The first day had been stilted to the level of painful awkwardness, where Steven had been stone-faced all through the day, avoiding all interaction with Tony, and Tony had been tight-lipped all the while, thankful for the avoidance. The multitude of questions that had no answers were never asked and the prince had, thankfully, not mentioned the misunderstood bullying incident either. Tony had shifted into Bruce’s quarters, a room attached to the Royal Physician Yinsen’s place. Bruce had been quiet himself, offering a share of his food and abstaining from any questions.

The second day had been an absolute hell for Tony. He suspected that Steven hadn’t gotten it easy as well, but the prince was a bloody righteous sod and frankly deserved the hell. Tony was used to acting as servant through his years with Obadiah and knew the basics but he had never truly trained to be a royal prat’s servant. Etiquette and him were enemies who didn’t compromise and propriety had escaped his learning all his life. It was no surprise then, that he hadn’t known about the obedience of servants while their prince mucked around in training. 

Tony and Steven had gotten into a verbal war within half the round of the knights’ training and Tony had been sent to the stocks, a barrage of rotten fruit welcoming him for his insolence. In return, Tony had walked back into his service without bathing, calmly getting back to sorting out Steven’s chamber with the stink of rotten fruit emanating from him. 

Steven had shot him a death-glare but Lady Natasha, the king’s ward, had laughed at the whole visual. 

The time since the third day had been mildly tolerant, with Steven telling him his jobs with perfunctory dismissiveness and Tony replying only to asked questions. It became tiresome by dusk and Tony had welcomed it when Steven had come back last night in a foul mood, ordering him to not show his face. 

Bruce had told him that it was simply a matter of clearing the air but Tony didn’t really know the matter to clear. He shoved it aside from his thoughts and focused on his mission for the morning.

“You never answered me,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table lightly, “When will you let me work on things? I can’t possibly learn just by watching you for a couple of hours every day.”

Nick ignored him and Tony hid a grin behind a hand, knowing that he was testing the older man’s patience. Nick was the description of a paradox, a forced mystery wrapped in a menacing demeanour. In the days since he had taken Tony under his wings, the man had never spoken about Obadiah nor questioned him about his allegiance. He had given pointed warnings about using magic though. Tony had argued that he had never learnt the skills but Nick had been practical about his rule that it wouldn’t matter to the king and would lead to Tony’s execution no matter how he knew magic. Tony suspected that Nick knew more than he let on but the man wouldn’t reveal anything under the most twisted questions, so Tony had learnt to go with the tides. 

He was preparing to try a new angle with the blacksmith when a knock on the door made him look that way. 

“Must be Sharon,” Tony hummed and went to open the door, freezing for a second when it revealed Lady Natasha standing outside.

“Ah, not the lady expected,” he said but nodded politely at the royal before moving aside to let her in, “A surprise to see you, my lady.”

“A surprise to see  _ you _ here too, Anthony,” she replied, a small smile on her lips as she moved inside, “Steve’s been fuming and huffing all around the place looking for you since the morning.”

“Does the man  _ not _ know to sleep in?” Tony groaned and winced when Lady Natasha’s smile deepened sharply, “Sorry, I’ll be on my way now.”

“The man,” the lady called out as Tony started to leave, “can be quite a pain to handle, at times. And I know that you didn’t quite...choose this. But he did get your sentence reduced to a year’s time.”

“My...sentence?” Tony asked with a slight frown and Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“The decision to make you Steve’s manservant?” she elaborated, “The king made you Steve’s manservant as a punishment along with a reward. You did understand that, didn’t you?”

“He never thought to mention that,” Tony said through a tight throat as he felt the hair on his nape stand, “Though I do remember him praising my bravery and calling it a reward.”

“Such are the mysteries of the crown,” she replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes and Tony shook his head.

“And more are the mysterious of the crown bearers,” he quipped with a mock bow before waving and taking a step to leave. He paused and turned around, walking back to the table to pick up the chain-mail.

“I’m taking the terrible chain-mail with me,” he told Nick and smiled innocently when the man shot him an incredulous glare, “I’m doing you a favour, really. Maybe I’ll return it to you when you let me make one better!”

Tony ran out the forge with the strangled yell of Nick chasing him, laughing to himself as he entered the alley. His laughter simmered down though when he reflected on Lady Natasha’s words. It made his skin tighten over his bones when he thought about his new job being a punishment rather than a reward, and it did make the decision clearer in perspective. Tony could deduce the reason behind such thought; it wasn’t hidden that Obie had been Tony’s relative, and no matter what Tony’s bravery had achieved, he was still an outsider who had come in with a murderer. It would make perfect logic to a king to keep him here as a punishment. On some level, Tony’s mind accepted this as due but on a larger level, he was conflicted. 

Did Steven request for the reduction of his sentence as a favour or as a repayment of debt? And if either, then why hadn’t he made it clear to Tony when he had last seen him? A stubborn part of Tony wanted to consider this an act of riddance by the prince, a way out from enduring Tony as manservant, which wouldn’t be a stretch from the truth seeing how Tony had made no efforts to play nice with the prince. A more impressed part of him though recalled the misunderstanding from the first meeting and wondered if Tony was destined to always think the worst of the damned prince.

He dodged a few hand-maids and skipped up the steps towards the castle, rushing through the corridors towards the prince’s chamber. He had one hand on the handle of the chamber’s door when it was yanked open and Tony stumbled inside a step. He looked up to see a furious looking Steven with dishevelled hair and rumpled old shirt.

“I went to get you a chain-mail,” Tony blurted and held up the item to Steven’s face.

“I’m late to the training!” Steven growled and moved aside when Tony sneaked in with the armour piece as his shield, “I have no shirt or breeches and no -”

“Hey, would you look at that, it’s getting later,” Tony diverted and bustled in, opening the wooden cupboard to remove the clean set of breeches and shirt, turning to throw them at Steve, “Sorry, catch. Alright, have you taken your bath yet? No? Well, go on, I’ll get the water ready.”

“You were late!”

“And now I’m here, honestly, Steve,” Tony said and noted the slip but moved on, “Go get ready for a bath. Stop dallying, sire, really.”

Steve worked his jaw but then threw his hands up and stomped off to get undressed behind the partition. Tony rushed out and ran down the stairs to the kitchen’s corner where an unending supply of hot water was usually kept at all times. Filling a bucket with the amount he needed, Tony hefted it up the stairs as quick as he could and entered the chamber again to find Steve muttering to himself as he threw his clothes over the partition. Tony grinned down at the tub and poured down the water with a nod.

“You’re possibly the worst servant I have ever seen,” Steve informed him when he came out for his bath and Tony shrugged as he moved back to get the towel ready.

“Sorry, I wasn’t honing my servant skills before diving to pull you back from a flying knife,” Tony quipped and grinned when Steve tipped his head back and glared at him. The image of a wet haired Steve glaring at him upside down wasn’t as intimidating as the prince thought and he seemed to understand it when he sighed and reached for his wash cloth. 

“Do you ever apologize for your errors?” Steve asked but Tony snorted it off as a rhetoric question before looking at the tub and pointing with a clean towel.

“Does apologizing ever help? Really? Isn’t it always better to fix your errors?” he countered and went back to arranging the clothes and boots for the training.

“It’s about the principle,” Steve replied, voice muffled as he rubbed his face with the cloth, “About showing respect.”

“Respect, right,” Tony exhaled hard and leaned to pick up the Steve’s boots from under the bed, “You say respect and it seems like fear. Also, would you really rather hold someone’s respect than their trust? You apologize to those you fear or  _ respect _ , as you say. But you fix your errors with those you trust or believe in. If you ask me, the latter is always better.”

“Well, it’s good that nobody asked you then, isn’t it?” Steve quipped as he placed his wash-cloth outside the tub and outstretched his hand for his towel, “Especially since you’re still  _ late _ .”

“Alright, I’ll accept that today,” Tony said and Steve rolled his eyes as he wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Small mercies,” he commented and Tony handed him his clothes before moving around the bed to get the armour from the chest. 

“Speaking of mercy,” he said as he hefted the armour, “I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your attempt at changing my sentence.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said and Tony caught his stoic look but his neck was red with embarrassment. Tony decided to play along and simply dragged the chain-mail down the man’s torso before moving on to the armour.

“Must be a rumour,” he said and ignored Steve’s throat clearing while biting back a grin. 

Funny, he thought as he finished fitting the man with the armour, it was almost easy to do this when he wasn’t taking offence or throwing offence to everything the royal prat did.

“Alright, you’re done,” Tony said and moved back with a satisfied nod to himself. Steve picked up his sword and rotated it in his hand before sheathing it.

“But you’re not,” the prince said as he moved towards the door, “The chamber needs to be cleaned, my jacket needs to be readied for the tournament’s welcome feast, the bed is an absolute mess, and my writing supplies need to be refreshed.”

“The tournament feast doesn’t start till tomorrow!” Tony protested but Steve leaned back at the door and shot Tony an innocent smile.

“I’m just taking your advice, Anthony. Helping you fix your error and avoid an error tomorrow,” he said and shot Tony a sloppy salute before going down for his training. 

Tony huffed and swallowed a scream, turning around to face the bed.

“Bloody. Prat” 

-x-x-x-

Steve winced as he saw another knight fall over the simplest of tests, making a fuss over wounds as they grumbled back to their feet. Bucky had told him subtly the previous day that he was letting the tournament’s tension get to him but Steve had simply invited him to a practice fight.

So maybe he really was a little tensed about the next day’s beginning. It wasn’t really an excuse for such poor display from those who were set to become Camelot’s knights.

“Oh, that must hurt,” he heard a familiar voice say behind him and Steve sighed with a shake of his head as he kept his eyes trained on his upcoming knights.

“He’s a grown man, he’ll be fine,” he replied without turning, knowing that he’d find company standing beside him in a few minutes. 

“I didn’t mean him,” Natasha said as she strolled up to stand beside Steve, just as predicted, her blue gown brushing against the ground as she walked, “I meant his ego.”

“Pride would be much better for a knight, honour even more,” he quipped, rolling the piece of a chipped gauntlet in his hand, “Ego does nobody a favour in a fight.”

“That would mean an end to tournaments then, wouldn’t it?” Natasha laughed and Steve noticed more than one knight shoot unsubtle glances their way, “Or would you argue that a tournament is a matter of honour as well, not ego?”

“I would argue nothing with you, of course, Natasha,” Steve rolled his eyes and plucked the knife away from where she was about to pick it up, “I have no intention of being cut down in my own ground, after all.”

“You’re no fun, Steve,” his oldest friend and most vicious competent in verbal spare pouted a bit before snatching the knife off his hands in a lightning move, “And not quite quick either, clearly. However will Camelot depend on your victory for the tournament with such reflexes?”

“Well then, we’d have to depend on the lady to win it in my stead,” he shrugged with a teasing tone and Natasha raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with dangerous mirth.

“That would be no fair competition, I’m afraid,” she sighed and smirked when Steve looked at her, “Sir Stern tripped with just a glance last time, remember? I would have an upper hand without a fair field for others, unfortunately.”

“ _ Now _ who has an ego?” Steve snorted and Natasha threw the knife in the air, catching it with ease as she did a mock curtsey when one of the knights gawked at her.

“Bucky told me that you were nervous about tomorrow,” she said in a low tone and Steve bit back a curse.

“ _ Sir James _ needs to learn to keep his opinions to himself more often”

“It’s not a shame to admit your nerves to your friends, Steve,” she rolled her eyes, placing the knife back down on the weapons’ table.

“Quite ironic coming from you, don’t you think?” Steve huffed with a tinge of sharpness but Natasha didn’t react.

“I simply act as I am expected to, and pretend to know what people want me to,” she shrugged, shooting him a knowing look, “When offered a hand or a shoulder, I don’t shy away from sharing though. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“I’m ready for what Camelot demands of me,” Steve said with a tight jaw, eyeing the progress of a new spar between his knights, “And what it demands of me during a tournament is victory. Fear or nervousness plays no role in that.”

Natasha didn’t speak and Steve was grateful for her silence, even though he knew that it was stifled with judgement. She was the king’s most outspoken critic at most times and Steve knew that she didn’t really agree with the king’s image of making Steve the ideal prince. Steve suspected that it was mostly thanks to her bitterness over her own parents’ death that had happened due to Camelot’s mistakes all those years ago. Daughter of the kingdom’s most favoured knight, Natasha had lost her father when Chester had wrongly judged a battle-plan and had sent him as the sacrificial lamb to save the others. The anger against magic and the rigid laws of execution hadn’t done much to soften the ward of the king, who was always a mystery to most. 

Bucky, or Sir James, was Steve’s best friend and had the most clear fascination with Natasha, one that the lady entertained during fleeting moments. Steve steered clear of that story, and kept himself happy with the knowledge that he had loyal friends by his side.

“I don’t know about fear during the tournament, but it looks like you should definitely fear your new servant,” Natasha chuckled and Steve broke away from his thoughts, frowning at her before looking in the direction she was staring.

“Is he - is he trying to chase a chicken?” Steve asked as he watched Tony run across the yard, one chicken in hand and the other outstretched to catch another one who was escaping him.

“Trying and failing apparently,” Natasha added, a laugh breaking out when Tony shuffled the chicken he was already holding and it escaped his grip, leaving him sputtering. 

“We should send him into the tournament,” Steve said with a disbelieving shake of his head as he watched Tony yell at two chicken, “It would at least be worth the entertainment.”

“Rude,” Natasha snorted before shrugging, “but maybe true. And definitely similar to another picture.”

Steve followed her finger and saw his knights scramble around for their swords just as Tony was running after a couple of damned chicken.

He sighed and Natasha grinned.

-x-x-

Yinsen stared at Tony for a whole minute before turning back to his work. Tony frowned and shot Bruce a look over the older physician’s head but his friend simply shrugged while clearly biting back a grin.

“Well?” Tony crossed his arms and shifted his feet, staring down at the calm man sitting at the desk.

“I’m sorry, Anthony, but I do not know the answers to such jokes, though I do suppose they must be terribly funny,” the man replied and Bruce snorted, immune under Tony’s affronted glare.

“I am not joking!” he huffed and pointed a finger at the snickering Bruce, “Honestly, Banner, I am offended. Yinsen, come on! I am serious!”

“You are  _ serious _ about ‘transferring your servitude’ to me from the prince,” Yinsen said deadpanned and looked up with an extremely judgmental expression, “Really.”

“Just for a few days! Till I can feel my feet again and actually know what a back without ache is like,” Tony groaned and Yinsen didn’t deign him with a response and instead handed out a beaker in Bruce’s direction.

“Sorry Tony, to each his burden,” Bruce quipped as he poured the liquid from the beaker into a vat of his own, “And quite honestly, the more you complain, the lesser people will take you seriously.”

“I chased chickens down the entire courtyard today, Bruce!” Tony threw his hands up and sat down hard in his chair, “Chickens! All because the prince wanted them for dinner tonight! The kitchen maids hate me, because they think that it is my job to fetch the animal that my master must eat! Can you imagine what would happen if he ever wanted a boar? Or a bear?”

“First, I do think there is this thing called  _ hunting  _ that the prince and his knights do, which would take care of the  _ boar _ ,” Yinsen drolled without looking up, “and second, what land are you from that you would eat  _ bear _ ?”

“Clearly a land where I didn’t have to chase chickens for royal prats!” Tony exclaimed and made a face when Yinsen glared at him but subsided nonetheless.

There was a knock at the door and Tony looked up to see one of the royal maids hovering in the doorway.

“Sorry, I just wanted to meet Yinsen,” she said and Tony grinned at her charmingly, ignoring Bruce’s magnificent eye-roll.

“I wouldn’t say he’s your type, my - ow,” Tony jerked his hand away when Yinsen rapped on it with his ruler and raised both hands in surrender, “Fine, fine, I’ll leave. I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Then you would have left an hour ago,” Bruce quipped with an innocent smile and Tony pointed an accusing finger at him but grinned in reply.

“You wound me, Bruce,” he said even as he got up and walked towards the door, bowing at the girl once, “He wounds me, please avoid him.”

“He is a more honest man than you seem,” the girl grinned and Tony clasped his chest dramatically before heaving.

“Betrayed by all those I trusted,” he exclaimed and walked backwards, out of the house, “I must go now to seek a balm for my heart’s wounds, I’m afraid.”

He turned around and skipped a step as he began walking back towards the castle.

“Tony!” he heard someone call and looked to his right to see Steve and his favoured knight, James, beckon him to the foot of the castle’s stairs.

Inwardly groaning, Tony quickened his steps and waved back as he walked towards the two men.

“Yes, sire?” he asked when he reached them and noted James’ glance run over his condition.

“I have a task for you,” Steve said and Tony eyed him warily, “Gather all my armours, even the spare ones, and get them polished for tomorrow. Get the ones to be mended to Nick, and get my ceremonial robes cleaned. And...oh, yes, check with Coulson about the lances and get me his report on their condition.”

“You said  _ a _ task,” Tony mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Of course, sire,” Tony shot Steve a false smile and nodded at Sir James before going to get his tasks started. He knew that this was payback for the morning’s delay but it didn’t stop Tony from grumbling all the way to Steve’s chambers.

He was on his way back from Coulson, carrying the report on the lances when he noticed a troupe of knights arrive. Standing in the balcony, he saw Steve and Sir James greet them and noted King Chester come down after a few minutes too. Tony looked over the flags hung over the horses of every rider and tried to identify any known symbol. One of the knights looked up and met Tony’s gaze, making Tony still at the absolute cold of the man’s gaze. Dark brown eyes were set in a hard structure of a cunning face, and Tony felt a shiver go down his spine at the momentary ruthlessness he had caught in the man’s gaze. Tony noted the man’s attire and looked to find the corresponding symbol, only to find two snakes coiling over themselves in a bright yellow flag hung over a dark horse.

He made himself move but the feeling of unease stayed with Tony as he went to deliver the list to Steve.

Later that night, when he tried to sleep, Tony heard the most unusual thing.

“ _ Anthony _ ”, a voice hissed and Tony shifted in his bed, imagining it to be a hallucination.

“ _ Anthony, listen to me _ ... _ you must come...only you can do this...you must come...Anthony! _ ”

Tony jerked up and opened his eyes wide, looking around in the darkened room but only saw Bruce sleeping in the cot next to his. 

“Great, now I can’t be allowed to sleep as well,” he muttered under his breath and shot Bruce a look when the other man grumbled wordlessly in his sleep. 

Tony lay awake that night, imagining someone calling him Anthony and a cold dark pair of eyes staring up at him. 

-x-x-x-

The tournament’s welcoming ceremony was a loud parading of the champions, something that gathered the entire crowd of Camelot.

“Looks like there’s more than the kingdom’s crowd,” Tony said as he held the chain-mail ready for Steve to slip into, leaning up on his toes when it got stuck over his head.

“There are some groups who are visiting to witness the events, from the lands of a few knights,” Steve said as he smoothed his hair back and raised his arms for Toy to tie the belt.

“Are you nervous?” Tony asked as he looped the belt around Steve’s waist and pulled hard to get the right hole, shrugging sheepishly when Steve looked affronted.

“It’s a tournament, Tony, not a battle,” Steve said as he lowered his arms and straightened his clothes, “It’s not about nervousness but about courage and bravery.”

“Yeah, but mostly about beating the other person off a horse,” Tony said as he picked up Steve’s helmet.

“That’s a joust,” Steve corrected with a mildly exasperated look, “this is a tournament.”

“It all involves beating a man down,” Tony grinned and Steve snorted as he took his helmet.

“Is there ever hope for you to learn the codes,” Steve asked as he slipped the helmet under his arm and turned around to face the entrance of the tent.

“If there is hope for you to learn to dress yourself one day, maybe,” Tony quipped and shot Steve a thumb-up when the prince shot him a dry look. 

Chester greeted everyone with a short speech about valour and honour, the trifle that Tony thought was made to send men out to war by men who wished to remain safe behind walls. He paused to wonder if he had grown more cynical than usual and mentally shrugged, brushing it off as trivial. The knights for the tournament were announced and cheered on by the exuberant crowds, people waving madly and clapping loudly for their champions. 

Tony watched the creepy dark-haired man come forward to the announcement of Sir Brock Rumlow, and found himself disliking the man’s demeanour as he waved at the crowd and shot Steve an amused sneer.

Judging by Steve’s expression in return, he gathered that the dislike was a bit common.

“Sir Brock is an old visitor of Camelot,” Sharon told him when he went to deliver a few of Yinsen’s medicines for Lady Natasha, “The last time he participated, Steven defeated him easily. The man isn’t the most gracious loser in a fight.”

“And now he’s back for a rematch,” Tony nodded and flashed a smile at Sharon, “thanks, Sharon. I’ll give Yinsen your request for the herbs.”

As he walked back down towards the exit of the castle, Tony passed by the guest chambers for one of the knights and heard someone speak.

“...yes, and you will help me win, won’t you, my little Hydra,” a male voice said and Tony was about to ignore it but stilled when he heard a hissing. Feeling a wave of trepidation creep over him, he walked closer to the half-ajar door of the chambers and peeked in to see Sir Brock petting three snakes that were coming alive from his shield. 

Tony froze in shock and a growing sense of alarm as he noted the snakes allow the petting for a while before they slithered back into the images on the shield. 

Taking shaky steps backwards, Tony had his breath catch and ran across the corridor as swift as he could. He was turning around the corner of the staircase towards Steve’s chambers when he dashed into the prince himself.

“Tony! What are you -” Steve caught his arms and stopped him from fumbling forward, an expression of annoyance morphing into mild concern.

“You need to withdraw,” Tony said without thought, “Sir Brock is going to kill you, Steve.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Steve hushed him and looked around to see if anyone had overheard them, “Do you have any idea what you are accusing a visiting knight of?”

“Listen to me,” Tony shook his head, “I just saw him petting the snakes of his shield. Steve, he’s not here to just win, he’s here to kill!”

“You saw Sir Brock petting his snakes,” Steve repeated, “the ones on his shield. Tony, do you even hear -”

“Steve, you’re not listening to me, I’m -”

“Steven?” a voice called and Tony saw Steve’s expression smooth out into a mask.

“Sir Brock,” he greeted and Tony pinched his eyes shut, “Were you looking for me?”

“Not...particularly,” Brock commented and Tony clenched his jaw before slowly turning around to face the innocent looking expression on the man’s face, “I was simply taking a walk around the place, stretching my legs. I noticed a commotion here, is everything alright?”

“Yes, my servant was just clarifying the details of a missing … box from my chambers,” Steve lied and Tony forced his face to maintain an expression of calm, “Everything is alright now.”

“Ah, your servant,” Brock nodded and looked at Tony with a small smile, “What’s your name then?”

“Anthony,” Tony bit out and wrangled his calm into control, “sire.”

“Anthony,” Brock repeated, smile turning creepy for a flash before he was looking back at Steve, “Very well then, I’ll leave you two to sort out your mysteries and explore a bit more.”

“Let me escort you to the courtyard,” Steve offered and released his grip over Tony’s arm, “I was leaving myself anyway.”

“Wonderful,” Brock agreed and moved around Tony with a bit of a swagger, “I’d love to see how Camelot has changed since my last visit.”

Tony grit his teeth and watched them go, feeling the helplessness war with a rising anger in his gut. He knew that Brock was here to kill Steve, knew it in his gut, and the knowledge made him feel sick. It reminded him of Obie and Tony took a shaky breath, breathing out slow to let the anger simmer down before he moved from the spot. 

Steve was clearly not listening. Which meant that Tony would have to find someone who  _ would _ listen to him.

He knew exactly who that would be and rushed out of the castle, weaving through the throngs of people towards the hovel where he hoped he would find an answer.

“He’s using magic,” Nick said after Tony had finished explaining the entire incident, “An enchantment to make the inanimate drawing come alive.”

“Yes, but how do we prove this to either Steve or the king?” Tony asked and stopped in his pacing, turning around to stare at Nick, “Maybe if I -”

“Don’t even complete that suggestion,” Nick warned and glared at him before rubbing a hand over his head, “We’ll have to find another way to stop this plan.”

“Nick, you told me to never use magic and I agreed, but this is the prince’s life,” Tony argued, spreading his hands, “If we don’t prove this to him, he  _ will _ fight Brock and he  _ will _ die.”

“You will not use magic to prove Brock’s sorcery, Tony,” Nick warned again, his eye staring Tony down, “The king will not praise your bravery this time. He’ll sentence your execution instead.”

“Then, what? Steve is too stubborn to actually withdraw and Brock had snakes that will kill Steve,” Tony emphasised again, voice hard, “Nick, he will die.”

“He won’t,” Nick disagreed and Tony knew that even he could hear how unconvincing he sounded, “He’s the best knight of Camelot, the First Knight of Camelot, and he’s smart enough to defeat Brock.”

Tony stared at Nick in frustrated shock and huffed out a bitter laugh.

“Tell that to yourself when you have Steve’s body falling down,” he spat and stormed out of the hovel, not looking back to see how Nick had reacted.

Steve wouldn’t speak with him through the rest of the day and Tony was actually grateful for it; it gave him time to think and try to come up with another solution. By nightfall, he hadn’t found anything and he felt frustration bubbling under his skin as he went back to his room.

“You seem tensed,” Yinsen commented as Tony crossed the lab part of the place to go to his room.

“Wasn’t the best of days,” Tony replied and went into his room without wishing Yinsen for the night. Bruce had already gone to sleep and Tony shuffled onto his cot with his silent misery. He didn’t think that he would sleep but the exhaustion of the day bogged down on him and he drifted into sleep within a few hours.

“ _ Your destiny cannot be fulfilled without him _ ,” a voice spoke somewhere near his ear, “ _ You need him, Anthony. You need him as much as he needs you. Save him...save your future king… _ ”

Tony took the pillow out from under his head and stuffed it onto his face, trying to block out the sound.

“ _ What cannot be fought by the sword can be won by the shield… _ ” the voice hissed, “ _ what cannot be stopped by a shield must be stopped by the body… _ ”

Tony’s eyes flashed open and a candle blew out in the room.

“Armour,” Sharon repeated as she eyed Tony with an amused caution, “You want to borrow Steven’s armour.”

“Just for a few hours,” Tony smiled sheepishly, “He’s particularly mad at me since yesterday and told me to do all the work he had given others as well. Which includes polishing his armour.”

“Yes, but isn’t the one at the forge his spare armour?” Sharon asked with a mild frown.

“Yes, yes, it is,” Tony nodded, “but technically, this comes under the work Steve has given Nick as well, right?”

“I didn’t know you were this eager to add onto your work, Tony,” Sharon commented with a chuckle as she went to retrieve the spare armour from Nick’s chest.

“You know me, all for a good day’s work,” Tony chuckled and took the armour from her, “I’ll tell Nick I took it when I meet him later, thanks Sharon!”

Tony hurried out with the spare armour and walked towards Yinsen’s place, smiling and nodding at the familiar passer-bys. Once he reached the home, he looked inside to check if either Yinsen or Bruce were there. When he found no-one, he breathed out in relief and rushed into his room, shutting the door behind him.

“Okay,” Tony spoke to the armour as he ran his hands over it, “let’s see if the strange idea works.”

The previous night’s strange voice had left an idea in Tony’s brain and he had decided to enchant the armour with a spell that would negate the effects of venomous snakes. Nick had given Tony a small spell-book during the first week, and now it lay open on Tony’s bed, a secret from everyone else.

Tony opened the page for his spell and took a deep breath before trying it.

-x-x-x-

Steve knew that Tony was avoiding him as much as he was avoiding Tony. He had asked Tony to do all the base work but had told him to leave and had called for another servant to assist him with getting ready for his fight with Sir Brock. It wasn’t that Steve was angry with Tony, but more that he was genuinely frustrated with the man for taking everything Steve valued in jest. He had known that Tony disliked the idea of a tournament but to try to make a fool out of Steve by throwing wild accusations at a knight he was to fight was taking things too far for Steve. It had also felt a little bit like a mockery of Tony’s saving Steve the first time, and Steve had reacted. It didn’t help that he genuinely disliked Sir Brock as well.

Natasha had wished him luck and had, thankfully, not commented on the absence of Tony in Steve’s tent. Steve didn’t know if he had an answer to her imagined questions anyway.

“You ready, sire?” the guard asked and Steve put on his helmet before hearing the crowd cheer for his arrival.

Steve walked out into the arena, and saw Sir Brock standing with his sword and shield. His helmet was narrower and snug around the face, and Steve nodded at him before taking his stance.

The bugle went off and the fight began. 

Steve had fought Sir Brock before, and had known the man to be particularly vicious, a little grey on the edges of honourable fighting, and ruthless when faced with the prospect of defeat. Bucky had suffered on one occasion, and Steve remembered the lack of regret on Rumlow’s face when he had apologised.

He ducked and weaved a jab as Sir Brock attacked, light on his feet but more than necessary force in the arms. Bringing up his shield, he let the sword clash against it as he moved and leaned to find the right angle to jab. The crowd cheered when Steve scored managed to get Rumlow to fumble twice and Steve noticed the knight shift his grip on his sword before his hits became vicious.

Their swords clanged and scratched as each fighter attempted to throw off the other’s weapon. When Steve’s sword managed to throw Rumlow’s off, he grinned behind his helmet and rotated his wrist once, feeling the sound of the swishing sword before he straightened up to end the fight.

He didn’t expect Rumlow to charge with his shield.

Steve jumped out of the way and raised his own shield to push back when Rumlow persisted. He grit his teeth and shoved against Rumlow’s shield when the man knocked his feet out and pinned him down to the ground before he heard him whisper something.

When the snakes on the shield came alive and jumped out of it, Steve knew that nobody could see them if their shield were entangled. He pushed back but felt one of the snakes hiss and sting against his neck but he ducked and it hit his chain-mail instead. The snake hissed again but even as Steve struggled, he saw it swoon unconscious. Brock seemed to have noted it too and Steve felt his grip weaken for a second.

Pushing with all his might, Steve shoved him off himself and scrambled to his feet, picking up his sword and slashing the heads off the other two snakes before pressing the sword to Brock’s chest. 

“It’s over, Rumlow,” Steve warned when the man tried to get up and pressed the sword harder against his chest. A cheer broke out in the crowds and Steve noted guards rushing in to capture Rumlow. 

“This is not the end,” the humiliated man hissed and Steve clenched his jaw but waved him away before turning towards the crowd. As he waved to all sides of the crowd, Steve’s eyes fell upon a figure standing next to Nick near Steve’s tent and he felt himself grin even before he could think. Tony was cheering and clapping with a smirk on his face and Steve laughed tiredly as he completed his acknowledgment of the crowd. 

“So,” Tony said when Steve finally went back to his tent, after having assured the king that he was okay, “snakes.”

“Snakes,” Steve agreed with a solemn expression and stared at Tony for a minute before he noted the other man’s eyes twinkle with mirth.

Both of them burst out laughing at the same time and Steve clutched his chestplate as Tony folded over, howling with mindless laughter over the sheer absurdity of things.

“How do you get the strangest assassins?” Tony wheezed as he took the helmet Steve threw at him, “First a singer and then snakes.”

“Must be your luck,” Steve said through laughter, “Didn’t happen before you came.”

“How exciting,” Tony snorted, “Admit it, sire, I’ve made your otherwise dull life much more interesting.”

“Death is interesting?”

“Well, more than Lady Sunset’s singing I’m sure,” Tony commented and ducked when Steve shoved at his shoulder.

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve grinned while shaking his head, “And get back to work.”

“How about -”

“Shut  _ up _ , Tony”

“That is a terrible order,” Tony said as he pulled loose Steve’s chestplate, “and I’m not following it.”

“Oh, like you follow all the other orders?”

“Let’s just say that following is not really my style,” Tony said with a cheeky grin.

“You really are the most horrible servant I have ever seen, Tony.”

“That I am sure of, sire,” Tony agreed and placed the armour on the table, hiding a grin before he handed Steve a towel, “Absolutely terrible.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters shall be uploaded tomorrow. Till then, farewell and leave a feedback!


	3. Here Be There Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets someone important. A secret is revealed but its truth is yet to be proved.

Tony had never been more thankful for somebody ignoring him as he was when Sharon opened the door, took one look at him and simply took the potion from his hand without saying a word before getting back inside to continue her work. He slumped against the wall of the doorway and jiggled one leg against the floor as he stood waiting for her to give him the bottle Yinsen wanted to be returned from the previous day.

“Are you alright?” Natasha asked as she took her dress from Sharon, noting Tony standing in the entrance of her chambers, “You look -”

“Handsome? Dashing? Like the moon in the darkness of life?” Tony mumbled from where he had pressed his face against the wall.

“- like death warmed over,” Natasha completed and Tony could  _ hear _ the unimpressed touch to her voice. He flapped a hand in her direction and heard a snort from what may have been either of the women in the chamber. 

“You praise me too much, my lady,” Tony leaned away from the wall and winced when his elbow scraped against it, “I would look much paler if  _ death _ warmed over. This is simply my natural state of existence.”

“With a pinch of sleeplessness?” Sharon quipped as she capped the bottle before handing it over to Tony with a wry look.

“I thought we were friends,” Tony accused without heat and heard a snort from behind the opaque partition, a sound that spoke volumes of derision and disbelief.

“Yes, asking about somebody’s health is betrayal,” Natasha called out, “Suggesting that somebody get some sleep and stop being a mule-headed overachiever is treason, I suppose?”

“I get the feeling that you’re referring to the prince,” Tony shot back and Natasha came out from behind the partition wearing a black and red dress that showed off her hair brighter.

“Oh absolutely, him too,” Natasha shrugged, taking the onyx beaded bracelet from Sharon and slipping it on before looking up with a sly glance, “But it has occurred to me that the prince might have met his match in obstinacy in a servant who had considered it wise to take on more work than a person could possibly complete.”

“Visiting gracious ladies as yourself is  _ not _ work,” Tony grinned and winced when Sharon stepped on his foot as she walked by, “Though I must admit that your maid does seem to share  _ your _ penchant for bloodthirst.”

“Toes are insignificant for most parts, aren’t they?” Natasha dismissed and turned around to face Tony, “but your answer shan’t be. So, tell me, what do you think?”

“You look…” Tony paused and tilted his head with a scrutinizing look before continuing, “You look ready to win, my lady.”

“Win what?” Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow but her jade eyes twinkled with amused interest.

“Well, men aren’t worth winning if they must be won by a dress,” Tony said, drumming one hand’s fingers on the wall nearby, “And those won by just that aren’t really worth you. A battle,” he paused and pointed a finger at Sharon, who was re-arranging wildflowers in a vase, “a battle can be won by this though.”

“Explain that riddle,” Natasha demanded with a tilt to her lips.

“Everyone knows, and everyone denies, my lady, that a battle is half won by the first impression of a warrior,” Tony shrugged with a faux innocent look, “If you were to go to war, you would have won half of it with the fatal strike of your attire. And the other half would fall at the sharp edge of your sword, of course.”

“Does Steve believe even half of your words?” Natasha asked as Sharon rolled her eyes while pretending to hide her smile in her work, “Your tongue may build castles out of none but air!”

“If only he believed me capable of such praise,” Tony sighed dramatically and grinned when Natasha snorted, “but I must leave now if I don’t want to gather any more words of chiding from him.”

“You ask for the impossible,” Natasha pointed at Tony with a dainty finger that he knew could hook smoothly under an armour’s clasp.

“I dare not dream, my lady,” Tony quipped back and turned to leave when Natasha spoke again.

“It has been an entire season, you know?”

Tony stilled mid-step and breathed deep, knowing where this conversation would go but not wanting to continue it.

“And winter might bring us quite a fright.”

“Anthony,” Natasha’s tone bore warning and Tony sighed quietly but turned to face her with a placid face that didn’t fool her, “it has been more than a season.”

“My lady -”

“She is your mother,” she cut in, quiet and sharp and everything that people underestimated in the ward of the king. Those who fell for her false smiles and snow-touched skin never saw the patience of a scorpion in her eyes. Tony had learned to listen, to pause and watch this woman, the one person who swallowed imperceptibly harder than others when an innocent hanged, the one who held her dagger more precious than her mirror. Tony had learned to see beyond the demure shadows of this orphaned daughter of the land and had learned to value her as a power beyond the king’s dismissals. “She is your mother and she sent you to an unseen land with someone who is no more,” Natasha said, eyes running over her own knuckles that rested on the wooden dresser by the window. Sharon’s eyes were turned away, body back to her mistress, but Tony knew that her ears were open and voice would remain calm when she would speak after he left.

“She sent you here with a trust, a belief in someone who betrayed,” Natasha continued, looking up and outside the window, “She expected you to come back and instead you stay here, working for a kingdom that is not yours. Do you - she doesn’t deserve this.”

Tony rubbed a finger over the bottle he held and felt the smooth turn of the glass brush against the callous of his skin. There was a cut from the previous week that had healed but the ridge of a scar remained and it felt different now, against the scarless glass. Different but not disturbing.

“She sent me to serve,” he said, words carefully chosen unlike the steps he took and looks he threw recklessly around this land where he had made family among strangers, “Admittedly to a familiar man, but that familiarity didn’t stay true. But my duty remained and I continue to do it. I was sent here to assist and serve, my lady, and I do so now. Just for a man who isn’t a murderer.”

Natasha smiled but didn’t turn towards him and they stood there, three people with no families and yet belonging, staring at nothing that mattered.

“You sent her a letter,” she said with a lilt that spoke of her own musings than an observation of him, “a single parchment through the hands of a traveller.”

“A single letter is quite enough to say what needs to be said”

“Was it a good letter?” 

“It was,” Tony searched for the right word, “adequate; it was what it was intended to be.”

Natasha hummed and turned around finally, looking him in the eye with a gaze that was older than she looked and held more age than she had lived.

“Anthony?”

“My lady?”

“Send her another this season,” she said with a small smile, the compassion of the ice queen, “it is always alone to be without the memory of family.”

Tony had heard of her story; the girl who had lost her mother to fire and father to ice, both faults of Camelot’s blind eye to its allies. A daughter who had become a ward to the man who had failed her family. She knew what loss meant and what memories valued in the midst of materials. 

“Of course,” he replied and her smile became softer for an instant before she nodded in Sharon’s direction.

“And thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful.”

“I’m afraid they are the handiwork of Bruce’s selection, my lady,” Tony said with an impish grin and Sharon shot him a knowing look as Natasha shook her head, “He has greener thumbs than mine.”

“Well then my gratitude to a worthier man,” Natasha said with a dismissive wave of her hand and Tony curtsied exaggeratedly to get a chuckle before he straightened to leave.

“I’ll tell Yinsen about your request for an additional bottle for the next time.”

“Thank you, Tony. I hope to see you during the feast tomorrow.”

“If Steve leaves me alive,” Tony nodded with a solemn expression and darted out before either of the women could throw something at him for being a dramatic fool.

He was certain that he had reason to speak so when Steve did greet him with an angry rant about lost jackets and holes in old boots.

Just another day, Tony mused and ignored the tirade of the prince as usual.

-x-x-x-

“She would tear them into tatters,” Steve said as he leafed through another report. Tony could guess it to be either one of the granary reports for the season or the list of complaints from the farmers. He had heard a couple of them when Steve had been mumbling about them during lunch.

“They are her favourite flowers,” James repeated, his defense from the very beginning of the conversation. Tony nudged his feet and James turned an impatient look his way. Tony pointedly looked at the trunk that the knight was using as a foot stool and stared the man down. James made a face but dutifully took his feet off and promptly used another chair to put his feet up. Tony made sure to bump into the table as he dragged the trunk away, ignoring the dirty look he got for knocking James’ feet down.

“She doesn’t care for flowers,” Steve said with a casual shrug as he frowned down at whatever the report showed and picked up a quill to make some markings on it.

Tony coughed and cleared his throat, making Steve look up with a raised eyebrow.

“You have an opinion then?”

“One of many, of course but not every opinion is as relevant as the one before but it is still an opinion and as relevant to the subject it arises from, no matter how -”

“Oh look, it started again,” James commented under his breath and Steve shot his best friend an exasperated look. Cutting Tony a look, he tilted his head, a gesture that Tony had come to understand as forced patience that never boded well for him.

“Your point,  _ Tony _ ?”

“She likes flowers,” he said, not looking at the two men in the room and instead scrutinizing the jackets he was taking out from the trunk, “She isn’t averse to them.”

“But?”

“But?” Tony asked and shot Steve what he considered a successfully innocent look. Steve crossed his arms.

Tony shrugged and went back to his work. “She gets flowers every day,” he said as he held a red sequined jacket at arm’s length with distaste before laying it away, “Sharon brings her the fresh ox-eye daisies when the flower market opens at dawn, and Bruce grows the most tended common eyebright in his small space.”

He picked up a cotton-blue jacket with white pearls sewn into the shoulder cuffs, small and delicate enough to blend into the soft velvet and looked up at Steve.

“Her favourite though are the nightshade by the swamps, as Sir James says,” he said with a wry look, “She isn’t allowed to touch them when the king knows because he considers them poison, but there is a breed that grows without venom in it. The one at the edges of the castle’s northern wing. Sir James would know, considering that he lives on that end.”

“I do hope there is a point to this drivel,” James said with a drawl but his smile was easier than it had been when Tony had first met him and his eyes held less suspicion than it had during those first weeks. Tony wouldn’t call him a friend but he would trust him to guard the gates through a storm, a sharp blade and sharper eyes melding with undying loyalty.

“She likes flowers,” Tony repeated and got up from the floor, shutting the trunk and placing the blue jacket on the bed, “But they are not meant for what you aim.”

“What I aim,” James echoed and Tony knew that his neck would be red but politely ignored looking his way. Some things were left best unacknowledged till those who needed to acknowledge it did themselves.

“A birthday gift,” he said instead of what was obvious, and faced them with a tired look, “You can give someone flowers every other day of the year but a birthday is not meant for what you give any day. She can get them anywhere and from anyone, and that is not what you aim when you seek to present a gift.”

“What do you suggest?” Steve asked, a curious smile lingering on the edges of his mouth that was set by lines of staying stoic in court and resisting a downward curve when following rules he didn’t know to change.

“I suggest,” Tony leaned against the banister of the bed and looked at James, who was looking mildly interested apart from wary, “that you gift her a thought.”

“Really, Anthony, your intelligence is sometimes beyond this realm of existence,” James said deadpanned, “In that nobody can understand what you speak without suspecting insanity.”

“It’s his natural charm,” Steve nodded solemnly and Tony made a face at him when James wasn’t looking.

“It’s his natural something alright,” James rolled his eyes.

“You need to give her something only you would think about,” Tony explained as he leaned away from the bed and walked towards the partition where Steve had hung his old clothes, “Something that you connect to her and not to any woman. Or friend,” he added when James’ eyes widened, “The point is that you .give her something you’d like for her, not something you presume she’d like.”

“Is the gift for her or for you?” Steve asked and Tony grinned at him, sharp and cheeky.

“Are you offering me a day off?”

“You days are more off than on,” Steve countered, looking back down at his reports.

“I work at the forge too”

“Something I’ve suggested that you push back from,” Steve said with an old edge to his voice that Tony knew from days when Steve would frown at him during odd moments during nights when Tony’s bones ached but he finished his work.

“I earn my keep,” Tony shrugged, avoiding Steve’s gaze and eyeing the old painting that he had seen the prince linger on during times when he would escape into his own mind.

“You earn your keep enough”

“I learn,” Tony bit back the snapping edge from his voice but it was clear that he was skittering on the edge of it. This had become an old argument by now, one that always ended with either Tony caving into silence or Steve making his displeasure known with a throbbing vein below his jaw. Nick had told him to tone down on his hours in the forge, the ones he clocked during breaks and between errands for Steve. The old blacksmith had noted the growing fatigue in Tony’s popping back when he stretched, the bags under his eyes, and the times when he would skip out on meals because they cut into his hours. He had made it clear that he noticed these but had also not forced Tony out, so Tony kept at it. 

Steve though was a brand of stubbornness of his own. He had frowned over dinner one night, pausing between sips of wine and asked Tony when he’d last slept. Tony had smiled and made a witty remark. The next day it had been less witty. The following day it had been a shrug and a diversion. He knew that Steve had caught on that he wouldn’t back off and it only served to infuriate the prince who took pleasure in carrying the weight of everything and nothing on his shoulder, even if he was dramatic about it. 

Tony couldn’t tell him that he worked and learnt because he couldn’t sleep. Because he didn’t know how to sleep anymore until it came in the form of unconsciousness. On days when he would try, under Bruce’s subtle watch and Yinsen’s mild tea sitting warm in his stomach, he would hear mindless voices in his head. Voices that he recognized from avoiding and obsessing over through starry nights. On some days it would be an actual memory, of Obie or his mother or whispered assassination plots in tower bases. On most other days though, it would be a singular voice; a voice that he had felt as phantom, in his bones and blood, but could never claim to remember. A voice that spoke of desires and destiny and dependance. A whispering shadow in his mind that made him live dreams he didn’t own.

He couldn’t tell anyone about it because he didn’t understand it and that scared him.

“I think I’ve found what I want,” James said, breaking the tense silence and Tony looked over his shoulder to see the knight subtly glancing at Steve before turning away with forced enthusiasm, “There are these moonstones that are rumoured to be found in the southern end of the castle. Nobody has found them or shown that they’ve found them there but they say you can try to get them if you dig through the bushes edging the last tunnel.”

“I’ve seen a moonstone,” Tony chipped in, eager to divert the topic and eyed James with a sardonic grin, “They make the best matches to a simple crown of metal band.”

“Eyeing jewellery, are we Tony?” Steve asked, and Tony looked at him to see him blow out forcefully before attempting to bring in normalcy to the situation. Tony grinned wider, hoping to cash in on the attempt.

“A crown wouldn’t be the piece I covet then, sire,” he quipped and Steve rolled his eyes but his shoulders were relaxing.

“Great! So I’ll try to look for them tonight then,” James said and Tony shrugged but Steve shot his friend an incredulous look.

“And skip out on the preparations for tomorrow’s welcome?” Steve asked with a laugh, “ood try, Bucky. But no, you’re on the rotation tonight.”

“I can’t possibly look for it tomorrow!”

“I can’t let you off tonight, sorry,” Steve offered a vaguely apologetic shrug but kept his decision firm, “Maybe you could ask someone else to collect it for you?”

“Yes, right,” James scoffed and Steve leaned forward on the table.

“No, really,” he said and Tony caught him shooting a quick glance his way before Steve was speaking earnestly, “You could send someone who knows moonstones and would be available to look for them today.”

“Like who?”

“Tony,” Steve said smugly and Tony’s eyes widened as he began shaking his head.

“Oh, no no no -”

“Tony,” James said slowly, warming up to the idea and Tony shot him a look, “yes, that would do. Of course.”

“That would certainly  _ not _ do, there is no  _ doing _ -”

“Anthony,” Steve said calmly, a royal smirk on his lips as he peered at him, “you will go look for the moonstones for Sir James today, and give them to the jeweller to get the crown made by tomorrow night.”

“But Steve -”

“That’s an order,” Steve said, the bloody prat looking too cheerful for anybody’s good, “In fact, you have the rest of the day off. Go now, get it done and get to the jeweller. You can deliver the gift to Bucky tomorrow when you come in.”

“Yes, but -”

“Right now,” Steve ordered and Tony had the dangerous urge to throw something at the smug looking man who was clearly doing this to make Tony get rest. Like he needed another mother.

“Yes, sire, of course, sire,” he muttered and bowed way too low before shooting James a scowl and getting out of the chambers with a string of curses on his lips.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“How is this possible?” Tony asked himself for the tenth time in the past five paces of the same tunnel, “No, really, how is this possible?”

Nobody answered him except for a cricket that chirped at him for annoying its peace. He pointed at it and scowled.

“Don’t you mock me,” he said accusingly, “You’ve been here before and I haven’t so I think that means that I reserve the right to panic in peace because this should not be possible. It should really not be possible.”

The cricket chirped in sharp bursts of stateco and Tony threw his hands up in the musky air.

“Well, I didn’t know that the boulders were going to fall!” he exclaimed and rolled his eyes, “Clearly, if I had known that there were rocks present that would fall and block my exit, I would not have used magic to light the torches. How am I supposed to know that it would result in the rocks falling? How does fire make that happen, o wise one?”

The cricket stayed silent judgingly and Tony shook his head, placing a hand on his hip.

“Oh, great, so it’s  _ my _ fault that my magic backfired, because I have been trained for years in this, haven’t I?” he demanded and scoffed when the cricket turned around, “Oh, shut up, you’re not even really trapped here.”

There was painful silence for a few beats before Tony groaned and dragged his hands over his face.

“Tunnels, why did it have to be tunnels? Why couldn’t I get stuck in a mountain or a valley or a swamp,” he asked the muddy ceiling and coughed when sand fell onto his face, “It’s like walking in an unending cave here. I do not like caves, cricket, that is something I have learnt today. Caves are not my home, and I was not meant for them.”

The cricket chirped once and gave a pointed silence. Tony pulled at his dark hair and slid down the nearest wall, sitting on his haunches and cradling his head in his hands over draw-in knees.

“Why did I even come here?” he asked out loud, words muffled by his hands, “I should have stayed at Ealdor. Sure, I would have been a nobody, not that I am a somebody here now, but I would have been invisible. Sure, the other men would twirl their fingers near their temples when my back turned, but really, that isn’t a completely crazy assumption about me either. So there wasn’t really any problem in Ealdor. Nothing enough to make me not go back there.”

He paused and dragged air into his lungs, letting his head fall back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling, noting the ridges and bumps along the curves of the wall.

“I don’t know why I’m not going back,” he said quietly, breathing in and out on a deep puff of air, “It doesn’t have to be forever and it can be just a visit, just to see mother and let Happy know that I’m alive. I can come back in a few days and complete my work here. I know Steve is one quill scratch away from asking again and Natasha has lost subtlety in her questions. Sharon can only bring up ‘home’ in so many sentences and Bruce’s silence is damning enough without his half-glances. Yinsen even has a bag packed for whenever I decide to leave, and I know that the old goose will stuff his disgusting stomach tonic in it somehow.”

Tony closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his arms, seeing orange behind his lids in circles and patches.

“I know that I can go back, but I also know that I can’t really do anything after that,” he mused, feeling the words trapped under his skin and outlining his teeth, “I can’t explain why I accept this ‘punishment’ more than a life of ‘freedom’ at Ealdor because this lets me learn what I actually want. Yes,” he shrugged, “it isn’t magic, and I don’t think it will ever be that, but I get to touch metals and bend them to my will. To my hands. And I get to stay at a place where people know  _ me _ but don’t  _ know _ me, however fickle that is. Anonymity, that sweet lie.”

He chuckled tiredly and curled his knees closer, resting his folded arms on them.

“I don’t know why I don’t go back, and I don’t know what I’m staying for,” he admitted to himself, the words swirling out in the open after ages,  “Nothing makes sense and what makes sense is nothing worth fighting for. Maybe I will be stuck in this miserable stretch of the unknown forever, and then it would make sense to those who outlive me. Maybe that’s my destiny.”

“ _ That would be quite miserable of a destiny for you, wouldn’t it, young warlock? _ ” a voice rang in his head and Tony groaned, pressing a hand into his closed lids.

“Could you stick to being a dream when I’m actually asleep?” he groused and rubbed his temples.

“ _ Now why would I want to be your dream when I am the most vivid reality of yours? _ ’ the voice sounded amused and Tony’s eyes snapped open, his brow furrowing.

“Did you just - did you answer my question?”

“ _ One that you haven’t dared to ask for too long a time _ ,” the voice replied and Tony sat up straighter, his heart beginning to beat faster.

“Can you actually hear me?”

“ _ Just as you can hear  _ **_me_ ** **,** _ young warlock _ ,” the voice quipped and Tony shot up to his feet, eyes narrowing in focus.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking around, seeing nothing but a maze of tunnels he was sure led to nowhere but in circles, “Where are you speaking from?”

“ _ Would you like to see for yourself _ ?” the voice asked and Tony began moving, one hand running along the wall and the other stretched in front of him.

“Where are you?” he asked, heart hammering in his throat and heard a chuckle in his head.

“ _ Right below you _ ,” the voice answered and Tony’s feet froze. He stared down and saw nothing but sand and stone.

“There’s nothing below me”

“ _ If you find the right door, there is _ ,” the voice explained. Tony swallowed and eyed the floor, flicking glances at the jumble of a path ahead before looking down again. He had heard enough about madness of the mind, the sickness that made people lose their sanity and sleep. Maybe he was having that. Maybe this was the beginning of the end.

“Tell me where the door is,” he said cautiously, figuring that he could find the extent of his madness.

The voice guided him to walk straight, avoiding the wider tunnel and making him walk the narrower path. Tony marked the path with etchings on the walls with a small stone and shuffled his way as told. 

“ _ There should be a door under your feet now _ ,” the voice said when he reached a divergence at the end of the tunnel and Tony stared at the clear path ahead before looking down. There was nothing clearly visible as a door.

“If I am killed by my own mind, I will be very disappointed,” he told out loud and crouched down to feel out the ground under his feet. “Please, be a trap door, be a trap door, be a - oh”

His fingers snagged a hard edge, like a latch to a door and Tony pressed his palm to the ground before blowing out.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered and moved aside to kneel and wiped the sand off the place with his hand, only to uncover a grate of sort. Figuring out a way to open it, Tony pushed the grate-door to the side and moved back to look down a hole - that had a ladder.

A stone ladder.

“ _ Come down, Anthony _ ,” the voice said and Tony breathed out shakily before moving his legs, slowly climbing down the ladder. When his feet finally touched the ground, Tony squinted at the pitch darkness around him and cleared his throat.

“Are you here?”

“ _ Bring some light and come closer _ ”

“Well, that’s not ominous,” Tony whispered to himself and focused his magic to bring up a spark in an old torch attached to one of the walls. Picking it up, he began walking forward, mindful of the wet floor of what looked like an actual cave.

Tony had to wake a few long steps before he came to the edge of the cave and saw nothing but the deep end of a bottomless depth.

“Right,” he breathed out and was about to turn around when a bout of fire appeared from above him. Tony ducked instinctively and stumbled back a step but the fire came again, only to light a series of torches hanging along the walls of the other corner. Tony frowned and adjusted his grip on the torch he was holding  before walking forward to see something, some monster perched on what looked like a large jagged stone.

“What are you?” Tony whispered and the monster turned, a jangling sound echoing in the cave but Tony’s eyes were transfixed when it revealed itself.

It wasn’t just any monster or creature, it was a dragon. A large, looming, fiery red dragon with curved scales and ridges lining its back. 

“Hello, Anthony,” the dragon spoke as it came forward, just a few steps and Tony’s eyes met the startling sapphire blue eyes of the magical creature, “I have waited a long time for you.”

“What - how - this cannot be possible,” Tony said out loud, shaking his head even as his eyes drank in every detail visible in the torches’ light, “All dragons are dead. The Purge destroyed all of them. I know this. Everybody knows this.”

“Ah yes, the fact that is a well-told lie,” the dragon mused, blowing out air through its nostrils, “The lie where everybody was told that the last dragon was killed in the Valley of the Fallen, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tony said and angled his torch higher to look better at this living dream in front of him, “King Phillips killed the last dragon himself. His best friend, Sir Ivan Romanoff, was lost in the chase of that dragon in the snow-capped mountains. Everybody knows that.”

“And yet here I am, right before you,” the dragon said, cocking his head and observing Tony, “You don’t seem afraid of me though.”

“Yeah? Well, once you see your uncle become a murderer in front of your eyes, a lot of things stop being scare-worthy,” Tony said even though his heartbeat was through the roof, “How long have you  _ been _ here?”

“Longer than you have lived,” the dragon said, bitterness tinging his tone for a minute before he leaned his head back and spoke, “And thankfully I am alive while you are here.”

“I don’t know why you’d be thankful about that but sure,” Tony said and moved forward, adrenaline giving way to curiosity, “Why are you here? I mean,  _ here _ , in this place. Who are you?”

“My name,” the dragon replied with a deep voice, “is Jarvis. I am the last of my kind. I was captured by the king during the Purge but he could not kill me. So, he decided to kept me captive in here till I died without effort.”

“Why didn’t you die?” Tony asked, not wanting to reflect on how that sounded terrible because the whole tale of the Purge was terrible in itself, “I mean, during the Purge. Why couldn’t the king kill you?”

“Because of my Dragonlord,” the dragon, Jarvis, replied, eyes flickering down for a moment before he looked back at Tony, “My dragonlord had known that I would be hunted. To protect me, he sealed our connection in an unbreakable bond and escaped into hiding. Till our bond remains, I cannot be killed. If I must be killed, it should happen through his death while we are still in connection.”

“So you die if he dies,” Tony surmised and Jarvis shook his head.

“He can always pass the bond on to the next dragonlord,” the dragon replied, “if there were to ever be one again.”

“That’s,” Tony paused and didn’t find a word enough to describe the situation, “something.”

“Indeed,” Jarvis grinned, the stretch of his mouth looking macabre but also amused, “and so are you. A young warlock as yourself, in service to the heir to the throne.”

“Okay, that,” Tony frowned, “How do you know me? How did you speak with me all these days?”

“You have magic,” Jarvis said, flapping his wings once, “extremely powerful magic. One that was born with you and not sought out. Your magic connects you to me, and me to you. I can speak to your mind when your magic is freer and without your constant barriers.”

“It’s creepy,” Tony informed him and the dragon  _ laughed _ .

“Maybe so, but it brought you here, so I don’t regret it,” Jarvis said and paused, eyeing Tony curiously, “You don’t seem to be happy here though.”

“In a cave? Yeah, no,” Tony snorted and Jarvis rolled his shockingly blue eyes.

“That neither am I but I meant in Camelot,” he said and leaned back his neck to study Tony better, “You stay here but don’t know if you have reason to.”

“Like I said, creepy,” Tony muttered but Jarvis didn’t look put off.

“You don’t see your purpose yet, do you?” the dragon asked but it sounded more rhetoric and Tony shrugged, “You truly don’t realize the connection yet.”

“To what? You? Yeah, we’re mind buddies who can speak in whispers at night, sure,” Tony said and Jarvis chuckled before shaking his great head.

“Oh this is simply wonderful. You come here by the greatest play of fate and stay here but still don’t see it,” he said and Tony was growing irritated.

“Fate? I didn’t come here by fate, I came here by desperation,” he clicked his tongue, “And stayed due to no other choice, really.”

“Is that so?” Jarvis asked and sounded like he could read Tony’s soul, like he could see through all of his excuses.

“Why else?”

“Because it is your destiny,” the dragon said and straightened, holding Tony’s gaze with his own, “Yours and Albion’s.”

“Mine and whose?”

“The greatest kingdom that shall ever be,” Jarvis said, sounding like he was delivering a prophecy, “A kingdom uniting all five lands and all people of it. A reign where magic and men would live in harmony and acceptance, trusting in their differences and working together. The golden age of this great land - Albion.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Tony said, swallowing when the hair on his arms and nape stood, “But how am I coming into this story?”

“You, Anthony, are the key to this destiny,” Jarvis said, “One side of the coin that will change the world.”

“Really, world-changing destiny,” Tony said deadpanned and cleared his throat, “Wait, one side of a coin? Who’s the other side?”

“The one you stay here for, of course,” Jarvis replied and smirked, sharp teeth glinting in the flickers of torch flames, “The Once and Future King of Albion.”

“You really think Chester is this world-changing king who -”

“Not Chester,” Jarvis cut him off, sounding annoyed, “the real king. The one who is truly the heir to that throne. The one you serve and shall always guide. Steven Rogers.”

Tony let that sink in and nodded to himself before breathing in. And burst out into laughter.

“You don’t believe in your destiny,” Jarvis observed, sounding disappointed and Tony wrangled his laughter back into control.

“No - no, it sounds - sounds fantastic,” he snorted and swallowed, “but there’s just one problem. Small thing, really.”

“Really.”

“Yes, you see,” Tony spread his hands out, “I’m not the person you’re thinking of. I’m just his man-servant. For a year. One year. A few more long months, and I’m out of this kingdom. I am not part of Camelot. And I definitely don’t know magic.”

“Oh but you have it,” Jarvis pointed out, “you have more magic in your finger than most sorcerers have through years of practice. It runs in your breath and blood. You might not know magic, Anthony, but it knows you. And it obeys you.”

“Again, thank you, but you’re wrong,” Tony shook his head, “You spoke about someone guiding Steve into becoming this great king of the future. And yes, he will probably become king one day but this thing you talk about, it has magic in it. A kingdom where magic exists freely with others. Camelot will kill someone before they even complete the word magic. And this isn’t in an exaggerated sense, no, they really do kill people just for knowing magic.”

“Great things come to those who dare to make changes, warlock,” Jarvis said and flew up, his feet constrained by large chains, “This  _ is _ your destiny, and it has chosen you. I guess that the question is now, will you choose to accept it? Or will you run from it, as you do from Ealdor?”

“What - hey- come back,” Tony yelled, “How do you know about Ealdor? How do you know all that?”

“Destiny has already begun its course, Anthony,” Jarvis declared as he soared as far as the chains would let him, “It is time you learnt to play your part in it. Because you will need to do it soon.”

“What does that mean?!” Tony yelled but Jarvis simply disappeared into the shadows above the roof of the cave.

Tony cursed and turned on his heel, sharply kicking at a pebble. Breathing out hard, he walked forward to try and find a way back up when the light from his torch illuminated a tunnel behind the stone stairs. Tony stared at it for a minute before walking forward, a growing sense of trepidation lingering in his mind.

When he got out of the tunnels and landed into the exact spot where the moonstones were rumoured to be, he could hear warning bells ring pretty clearly in his head. He picked up a few moonstones and quietly made his way back to the main square of the castle.

That night, he heard no voice in his head but he dreamt of a destiny that was now growing in his mind.

-x-x-x-

Steve raised his arms and silently noted Tony as the man went by rote, slipping the jacket over Steve’s shoulders. He could sense that something was wrong, it was as clear as the gleam of the pearls that shown in the buttons sewn into the jacket. Tony had come in on time in the morning and had done all his jobs without complaints, comments, or cribbing about the injustice of mornings. Steve knew that half of what left Tony’s mouth was just him speaking to fill the silence, and that he was one person who worked more than he should, but he had learned early that Tony didn’t react well to compliments. He would deflect, become defensive, and expect a favour every time any action of his were given credit.

The last time Steve had seen Sharon compliment Tony on the brilliance of his armour design, Tony had dug out a thousand flaws in it and had taken it as a sign of chiding. Sharon had looked like she wanted to swallow her compliment back, but had remained silent, knowing when she would make things worse. 

Sometimes Steve envied Tony for the quick loyalty he had inspired and earned from those he had never known before in his life. Bruce, the man whom Steve had not seen speaking much to any person who wasn’t Yinsen, now shared a room with Tony and felt comfortable enough to steal his food, throw his dirty laundry at Tony’s face telling him to get it cleaned himself, and have a special ‘tone’ for the man itself. Sharon, who Steve admired for her strength and perseverance with dignity, had no qualms about snagging Tony by the arm when he would try to escape a conversation, no hesitation about calling him out when he worked despite a fever, and didn’t shy away from trusting Tony to come through for her even without asking him if he could. Natasha would look amused by his charming words and would laugh as she threw out sharp banter of her own, but would also know that Tony would steal from the kitchens if she asked him to, just as she would chide him for speaking unnecessarily to Lords who were disapproving of him. Bucky wasn’t impressed by him but he was comfortable enough to tell Steve that Tony could repair his armour better. The king thought Tony a fool, and Steve could see the reasons for it when he did foolish things, but Steve also knew that Tony was undeniably brave, and an idiot for never seeing that about himself.

So he bickered, and challenged, and ribbed him as much as he could, finding moments of childish play when the weight of the future lay too heavy to foresee. Steve knew that the year would end and Tony would leave, but it was still not the end and Steve had already seen too many hopeful wishes die to let the present go. Tony wasn’t a friend, because friends didn’t serve and polish and draw baths; or maybe they did, but friends weren’t paid to stay. And friends weren’t called sires or princes with bowed heads. Friends weren’t princes and servants, two ends of a spectrum that was rigid and terrible and the truth. Friends weren’t Steven and Anthony, two men who were forced to stay.

Tony wasn’t his friend, but he was something and Steve liked having that something to fill the void.

“Did you lose your voice today?” Steve asked, smoothing down his jacket and straightening his cuffs in an attempt to avoid Tony’s face, “I seem to lack hearing your usual complaints about my very existence and everything it leads to.”

Maybe bitterness was a passing phase, Steve thought as he carefully kept his eyes away from Tony.

“Well, your existence does serve as my amusement, sire,” Tony replied and Steve wondered how desperate he must be that he would crave insults as entertainment, but he could already feel his spirits lifting.

“Then at least one of us proves useful enough,” he quipped and faced Tony, raising his jaw to let the man fix his collar.

“I’ll remember that when you next call for me to help you escape from someone who’s fancy you feature in,  _ sire _ ,” Tony snorted and Steve rolled his eyes, looking down when Tony patted his collarbone.

“It was once and your limits of exaggeration increase every day,” he retorted, making Tony cough mockingly.

“Your math seems lacking and my limits simply grow better with every day,” Tony cleared his throat, “Growth is the foundation of man, is it not?”

“Great words,” Steve nodded and moved away to pick up his special cape for the feast, “Whose are they?”

“A great man,” Tony took a short bow and Steve flicked at his head.

“Modesty is truly not your attire,” Steve commented and clasped the cape’s clasps around his neck, “You do remember you official clothes for today, don’t you?”

“I promise that they are unforgettable,” Tony scowled and Steve grinned gleefully, biting back an all-out laugh while remembering the terrible outfit Tony had to wear as the royal servant.

“The hat makes up for it, doesn’t it?” Steve asked with an innocent look and Tony shoved the sheathed sword in his hands with an unimpressed look.

“I look like an overgrown peacock”

“Suits you perfectly then,” Steve nodded, making Tony pinch his arm in the pretext of pulling his jacket straighter.

“Ready?” Tony asked when Steve finished getting ready for the feast.

“Let’s hope so,” Steve said and Tony shot him a thumb-up.

“Good, now get going. I have to wear my peacock-dress.”

Steve was laughing throughout his way to the main corridor of the royal court where he met Natasha, who was accompanied by Sharon. Natasha’s scarlet gown with a halter strap neck that connected to the torso with gold links made her look even more ethereal than she normally did and Steve smiled softly at her. She simply raised her eyebrows at him but did slip her hand through his arm as they entered the court hall. 

“You ready for your feast?” he asked her and she snorted lightly.

“You mean Chester’s feast,” she corrected and he bit back a sigh at her known bitterness over such events.

“Well, yes, how dreadful,” he said instead, “You get to dress-up and insult a few charming men without them realising that they have been insulted.”

“You mean my life everyday, Steve,” Natasha quipped back and Steve bit back a smile at the familiar banter.

It was fine. Things were as they were meant to be.

He breathed and walked the birthday woman to her feast, looking every part the prince he was trained to be.

He breathed easy though when Tony came in wearing his ridiculous outfit and simply tipped his hat at Natasha and waggled his eyebrows at Sharon.

Steve shot him a look and Tony shrugged but his grin was easy and Steve kept this moment where they weren’t friends but they were something.

And they still had seasons of this to go.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update the next chapter later! Till then, feedback please <3


	4. Noble Be Thy Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beast is in town, a friendship rises, and a true knight's qualities are tested.

Tony narrowed his eyes at the carcass of the shield in front of him and picked up the long bent gouge to try and pull out the metal rim. The horned edge had been chipped and he hooked two fingers into the bent rim there before slotting the tool to its spot. There was a sharp squeak of booted feet turning on the toes and he diligently avoided looking up, knowing that a conversation would be inevitable if he did.

A bitten off sigh followed in two beats and Tony kept his eyes trained on his work. Work was important. Work needed concentration. Work was -

“Will you stop that? You’re going to start a fire with all the friction you’re giving the floor,” he said, flicking a look up to see Steve pause mid pace and shoot him an indignant glare, “You’re making me anxious with all the pacing, that’s all.”

“You?  _ You’re _ anxious?” Steve demanded and Tony resisted rolling his eyes with great might, “I’m the one who is in a mess and  _ you’re _ anxious.”

The air was cold outside and Tony could see the fire flickering between its roar behind Steve. The light of the flames cast a glow outlining his frame but only served to make him look more furious than he was, which didn’t help in the least. Tony shook his head slightly and bent back over his work.

There were times when his participation was required in a conversation and then there were times when Steve just needed someone to hear. Not listen to him but just hear him out. Tony twisted the gouge a little and pulled at the metal rim, letting the silence of the room remain.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Steve huffed and Tony heard the creak of a chair being pulled across the stone floor and the knock of elbows landing on the table, presumably arms folded to create a cradle to lie the head on, “I’m the prince and this is expected, it’s what everyone does, it’s something princes have done for ages now. I should simply understand it and accept it.”

“I never said anything,” Tony pointed out as he twisted the frame and felt his arms strain a little.

“Well, that’s rare,” Steve scoffed and Tony gave up on working things peacefully, looking up with a pointed look.

“Are you done?”

“I haven’t started anything,” Steve muttered and Tony put down his tool, placing the shield between himself and Steve on the table.

“Done being a prat I meant.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you actually remember who I am,” Steve sighed but leaned back against the chair, eyes trained on Tony’s hands instead of his face.

“I do, believe me, I do,” Tony huffed and leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table, “I know that you’re a dramatic prat.”

“Thanks, I’m just going to -”

“But,” Tony continued, used to pitching his tone just right to plough over Steve’s muttering by now, “I also know that this is not what you want. So yes, I understand.”

“What part?” Steve chuckled without humour, “The king deciding that I’m to meet princesses to choose one, or the one where he has already invited Princess Carol to come tomorrow and never even asked me?”

“Which bothers you more?” Tony asked instead of answering and Steve looked up, eyes of a forging fire, sharp with equal parts of burning fury and an accepted resignation. Tony had seen this man throw away his sword and fight an attacker hand-to-hand, just because he was challenged, and yet here he was accepting a destiny that he never wanted.

Tony wondered if life was secretly laughing over their ironies over her plans.

“It bothers me more that there should be a choice over two terrible parts,” Steve said and twitched his lips like they were rejecting words before he took a breath that erased the clear vulnerability of the moment, “The hunting group leaves in two hours, is my new crossbow ready?”

Tony knew deflections when he heard them and would push against it usually, because he was good at that when it wasn’t himself deflecting. Steve’s eyes held a forced cheer and he rolled his eyes, pushing away his urge.

“You remember the days when you forbid me from working on your weapons and then forbid Nick from letting me work at the forge because I would sneak work despite what he or you said -”

“I’ll take my old crossbow then,” Steve said with a cheeky grin and Tony pointed at him vehemently.

“I will burn that disgrace. It will become lint for your fireplace tonight,” he warned, getting an amused hum for his trouble.

“Why is your solution always burning things or making them explode when faced with a problem?” Steve asked, lifting his legs up and crossing his feet on the table’s top. 

“If I were to dare do this on  _ your _ table, you would have my head,” he pointed out.

“I’m the prince, Anthony,” Steve shrugged with a glint in his eyes. 

“You always choose to use that only when it involves getting out of things you have no explanation for,” Tony retorted and grimaced when Steve’s foot leaned up to wave near his face. He leaned back and pushed it away, but Steve didn’t fall, the damned graceful arse.

“There are perks to the job,” Steve agreed solemnly and Tony snorted loud, “Are you going to give me the damned crossbow or not,  _ To _ ny?”

“Under the cot, take it,” Tony sighed and picked up the ruined shield again, “Anything else, my lord?”

“I’ll let you know when I need you,” Steve replied, picking up his crossbow from under the spare cot Nick kept for late nights at the forge. Hefting the bow on his shoulder, Steve walked over to Tony and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in an hour then. We’ll need to get ready for the hunt.”

“Fun,” Tony commented drily and hid a grin when Steve knocked his knuckles lightly against Tony’s head before walking to the door.

“Don’t be late!”

Tony breathed out and arched his back, groaning at the muscles that came awake at the stretch before he eyed the shield. He knew that Nick would make some quips about taking work larger than he could handle but not actually complain. He could let it be and catch a few moments of rest before he had to get back to his work at the castle. He was thinking about it when his eyes landed on the windowsill and his eyes widened at the hour-glass.

“Yinsen’s herbs!” he scrambled out of his chair and almost rushed out before getting back in to pick up his bag to go collect the herbs he had promised Yinsen for an anti-venom potion. Bruce was the one who always picked the herbs but his sudden letter from an old friend had made him go to his village for a couple of weeks; this meant that Tony had become Yinsen’s choice to pick up the easiest but necessary parts of Bruce’s work. Pushing in the small pouches to store the herbs into his bag, Tony rushed out of the forge towards the woods.

-x-x-x-x-

The wide table was filled with maps and parchments, quills stuck between sheets and inkwells edging towards a topple. Chester was flanked by a mildly perplexed Lord Stern and a dour Sir Hodge, looking disturbed himself as they poured over the reports of the attacks.

“We’ve got no description of the attacker,” Steve surmised from the details on the parchment he held, “Two known survivors but they didn’t get a good idea about who it was. It was too dark to identify. We have no footprints and no weapons.”

“The victims were struck by something sharp,” Bucky pointed out at the observations recorded, “From the bodies we saw, they look like something with a hook or a claw.”

“It could be an animal,” Steve nodded, eyeing the map on the table, “but that wouldn’t explain the lack of footprint.”

“Whatever it is,” Chester finally spoke up,  looking at everyone gathered around him, “It is time we found and destroyed it. The incidents reported are not far from Camelot. We must stop this before it reaches here.”

“I’ll take a group of people and get the search started,” Steve said and nodded at Bucky who’s gaze sharpened. Chester dismissed the people in a few minutes and Steve walked towards the door, Bucky falling into step with him, a habit from years. They didn’t speak as they crossed the corridors, Steve ignoring the guards as he went and Bucky acknowledging them with looks. This was the part they played, a part they had perfected since they had both been boys plucked too soon to become men. 

Steve had been a palm’s length shorter than Bucky when they had first worn knights’ costumes, drowning in the borrowed clothes from Bucky’s father as they tripped over their feet but yelled out charges to mock battles. Bucky had a stronger arm, clearer vision, and a voice louder to call for soldiers. Steve - he had been shorter, steady hands but tripping feet, and a weak chest. His earliest nurse had once told him that it was magic’s fault, that it was the result of messing around with nature. Steve had become confused and mildly terrified that day, but Bucky’s father had found him in the stables and had called the story all a lie. He had told Steve that he would grow, some day even stronger than Bucky, but it would happen when it was destined. Bucky had told him the next day that the nurse had left for her village. 

He had grown though, and it had done him a world of good to do all he needed to do. Bucky would often shoot him a look and tell him that he could do less and still be the prince but he didn’t leave Steve alone in his decisions so it was just a habit by now. They both carved out their roles in the stage of the public eye though, and they had fallen into them with an ease that sometimes disturbed Steve. He had grown to keep his eyes placid when they could have widened, kept his smiles polite when he wished he could twist them into grimaces, and kept his hands uncurled when he wanted to punch out sometimes. He was still stubborn, still demanding, still righteous to some extremes, and a lot of things that landed him in hot water often but he had grown to play the part of keeping his hands clean. Bucky knew and formed his own part though. His placid eyes burned with an edge, his smiles were more smirks when charming, and his punches were freely thrown while holding that smirk. He was still considerate, still open-minded, still accepting to a fault, and a lot of things that made him the golden boy but he played the brass effect with ease. 

They had held out this balance to keep themselves floating, and Steve knew that even if he had nothing, he would have Bucky.

“You suspect something?” Bucky asked as they stepped into Steve’s chambers, shoulders straightening even as Steve’s slumped a little.

“Not completely, but it is possible,” Steve replied, moving towards the shelf where he had his small collection of well-loved books, “The survivors said that they heard flaps, like wings, but also that there were no birds around. They also said that they heard thuds though.”

“The marks on the victims aren’t ones made by swords or other weapons,” Bucky agreed and leaned against the wall, “We already guessed that it might be an animal.”

“Yes, but what size of an animal did 4 men with hunting bows not fight against?” Steve thumbed through his titles and picked out a book, bringing it to the table and opening it, “And why were there wings?”

“You’ve got something?”

“Nothing sure,” Steve turned the pages before pointing at the title of a children’s tale, “But there was this one thing -”

“A griffin?” Bucky cut him short and looked up, giving Steve an incredulous look, “Steve, you  _ know _ those things are not true, right? It’s a fable. A made-up tale.”

“I’m not sure,” Steve repeated, cutting a look at his friend, “but we can’t rule out any possibility without a chance.”

“It’s a wild tale. A myth.”

“And what is magic?” Steve asked quietly, watching Bucky’s mouth snap shut. The brunet breathed out and ran a hand over his face.

“It’s a children’s tale,” he sighed faintly but shook his head before looking back up, “You’re gonna tell the king about this?”

Steve shrugged, an innocent look on his face ruined only by the wicked gleam of his eyes.

“It’s a children’s tale,” he said and Bucky scoffed, snapping the book shut as he picked it up. Everybody knew that the moment Chester learnt about a hint of magic, he would begin a wide hunt for every sorcerer and witch out there. Steve didn’t claim to not understand the root behind it even if he wished with every bone in him that there were other means, other measure to this. He had tried in the past, getting into arguments with the king in forced politeness about doling out punishments according to the measure of crime. Magic, Steve understood from years of being told and having watched from his side of the window, was not a force that could be battled but he also knew that these were people who had lived and died with the same pain that any other. The law of Camelot was firm but Steve didn’t have to poke the bear if he could avoid it. If he could solve this without inciting Chester’s ire against an invisible foe.

“Whatever you say,  _ my lord _ ,” he said, making Steve roll his eyes, “Are we asking Yinsen about this?”

“Seems so,” Steve nodded moving around the table to pull up his jacket from the partition where it was hung, “Ugh, I told Tony I didn’t want the sleeves attached. It was fine, it looked fine even without it.”

“What?”

“Tony thinks that I dress like a heathen if nobody puts effort for me,” Steve rolled his eyes and pulled his arms through the new sleeves of the jacket, feeling warmer but not saying it out loud, despite Tony not being there to tease him, “You should have seen the threats he made against my old clothes. When I locked them away, he actually tried tugging the trunk away. You should have seen him! He was trying to sneak out my entire trunk thinking that I wouldn’t notice. I swear, sometimes I think he’s -”

Bucky cleared his throat and Steve looked at him to see a bewildered but tolerant expression.

“You  _ do _ realize that he’s your servant, right?” he asked and continued even as Steve’s face fell into a minor frown, “You could just sack him and get a new one if you want. Actually, you could just get a new one without even sacking him.”

“I already have him though,” Steve said, shrugging awkwardly and pinching his jacket straight before frowning at Bucky.

“But you don’t  _ want  _ him,” Bucky countered with a confused look, “You constantly complain that he’s the worst manservant you’ve seen.”

“He’s...my manservant,” Steve said, wanting to let go of the topic because it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. He knew that he complained about Tony a lot, bickered with him more than anyone and was honestly frustrated by a lot of things the man did, but it didn’t mean that he wanted him gone. He didn’t even think about that, considering it an absurd thought. Tony was not the most ideal manservant of Camelot but he was still.. _ Tony _ . A habit, a constant in where Steve was. The idea of someone, anyone replacing him made Steve feet strange in his gut. 

“Whatever you say,” Bucky rolled his eyes and turned around towards the door, “Anyway, he’s going to be here for just another two weeks. His year of service ends and  _ then _ you’ll have to pick a new servant all the same. So I guess it’s just a matter of time.”

Steve’s feet paused for a moment and he felt his balance falter before he caught himself as he walked behind Bucky. He’d known, always known that it would be this way, that it was just a year’s time. He had arranged for it himself. But the idea of it becoming a reality, of time coming to an end so soon, of Tony leaving altogether - it didn’t sit right in Steve’s mind. He rolled his shoulders in his jacket, the one Tony had gotten changed without asking him, and let himself imagine having a more subservient, more respectful servant. Someone who wouldn’t call him a dollop-head or a clotpole or other increasingly offensive and hilarious names without a second thought. Someone who wouldn’t argue with him over weapons and armours, eyes blazing and not giving an inch when faced with the prince. Someone who, for all the wrongness of the term, would be a bootlicker.

His stomach rolled and Steve pushed away the entire thought, forcing himself to focus on the current attacks and not the inevitable prospect of losing a servant who demanded more as a friend.

The jacket felt too tight on him and Steve walked behind Bucky with a set jaw.

He had more physical demons to battle.

-x-x-x-

Tony heard the rustle as soon as he bent down to pick the last set of herbs. The forest was always a home to the occasional animals that skirted along the edges towards the kingdom and Tony had been with Steve on hunts to know most of their types. The ones who attacked or were dangerous never ventured this side, and not during this time of the day. They were more prone to wander near the river side. He breathed out and picked the soft stems of the herbs, holding them carefully to pinch away the top seeds before putting them into his pouches separately. 

The rustle came again and this time Tony stilled, noting that it sounded much closer than before. He slowly came up from his crouch and twisted around, body going into hyper-awareness, only to see a beast behind him. Tony’s feet fumbled a few steps back and he raised his hands out front in defense, cursing himself for the umpteenth time for not bringing anything to defend himself with. He knew that he could use magic but it always was a test of his disguise and lies, of making sure to leave no chance at being found. 

The beast, the feet and body of a lion with head and wings of an eagle, came forward and Tony matched the step with one backwards. 

“Any chance you’re friendly?” he asked in a half-joking voice and the beast cocked its head before rushing at him, “I guess not!”

Tony ran, slinging the bag across his torso, looking over his shoulder to see the beast crossing the distance. He ducked stray branches and felt the leaves crush under his feet as he tried to put some distance. He twisted to see where the beast was and his foot caught on something, sending him tumbling and falling on the ground in a sprawl. His shoulder hit the ground hard and Tony bit back a groan as he felt pain bloom across it. He saw the beast close in, saw his life flash before his eyes in red, and put up a palm, ready to risk magic if it could save him.

A blur of green caught the corner of his eye and Tony paused in time as a man came between him and the beast, a sword swinging in the air.The beast snarled but eyed the blade cautiously as it advanced and retreated, and the man, this dark stranger who Tony’s adrenaline filled mind couldn’t recognize, was going at it with sharp movements. 

“Get up!” The man yelled without looking back and Tony obeyed without a thought, too keyed up to pause. The sword flashed as it threatened the beast but then Tony saw it striking its massive beak.

The sword broke in two.

Tony and the stranger both stilled for a second before the stranger turned around and ran, grabbing Tony’s arm as he pulled him along.

“Run, run, run, come on!” the stranger held Tony’s arm as they both ran, a broken sword in the man’s other hand. Tony caught sight of a hollow log and he pulled, resisted the stranger.

“What’re you - oh,” the stranger caught on and followed Tony to scramble into the massive log, crouching and curling to crawl inside it. Tony heard the man yelp a little but stifle himself and they both sat still, shoulders pressed together and back touching the wood, listening for the beast.

It felt like an hour but was probably not more than ten minutes before the noises faded away. Tony let out a breath he had been holding and sagged against the hollowed wood, letting his head fall into his hands. He laughed, a touch hysterical, and looked up, turning to see the man who had saved him.

“That was the most interesting herb-adventure I have been in and I hate it,” he laughed and eyed the man with a sense of admiration, “You saved me. Well, you tried and I found this hollow -”

“Your gratitude requires work,” the man laughed a little and Tony grinned.

“I’m Tony,” he held out his hand, “Anthony but nobody really calls me that.”

“James,” the man replied and caught Tony’s hand with his own calloused one, “James Rhodes.”

“Uh, yeah, no on the James,” Tony wrinkled his nose in exaggerated distaste, “I already know one and I can’t have you on his length. Rhodes, hmm? Rhodes, Odes, Ode -”

“What are you doing?” the man asked, voice a little reedy but Tony shrugged and made a triumphant sound when it hit him.

“Rhodey!” he said with a pleased grin, “I’ll call you Rhodey.”

“That’s not my name,” the man tilted his head and smirked a little, “Not even my first name.”

“It’s a friend-name,” Tony explained, “You can call me Tony since we’re friends and I should have a new form of your name, since you’re my friend too. So, Rhodey.”

“The beast must have sensed your madness,” Rhodey teased and winced before his face smoothed out but his voice was still tight, “Now we’re friends out of nowhere?”

“It comes with saving people, and what’s wrong?” Tony asked, eyes tracking the way Rhodey shifted on his side, like he was avoiding putting weight on his hip, “Are you hurt?”

“I think so,” Rhodey said and his words were slurring now. Tony reached out and pulled him closer, trying to drag him out of the hollow. “You’re being awfully forward there,  _ Tony _ ,” the man slurred, smiling even through his drooping eyes as Tony felt along his side for a wound.

“I’ll buy you a meal and drink later,” Tony went along with the joke, knowing that he needed to keep the man awake, “I found it. You’ve got a gash along your hip. Come on, we need to take you to the physician.”

“I’m fine, it’s alright,” Rhodey tried to protest but Tony pulled his arm around his own shoulder and braced an arm around Rhodey’s waist to balance him as he pulled him up.

“Maybe I want to thank my hero a little better,” Tony teased, grunting a little as he bore Rhodey’s weight along his side, “Wouldn’t want you going back telling people that the people of Camelot left their friends wounded.”

“Are all the people of Camelot as crazy as you?” Rhodey laughed, the laughter coming a little wet and Tony hurried his steps.

“Definitely,” he said, keeping his eyes out at the path ahead, “You’re going to love it.”

“Remains to be proved,” Rhodey groaned as his face contorted mildly and Tony squeezed his hip as he dragged him to Yinsen, knowing that the man’s bravery would do him no good if medicine didn’t.

Yinsen didn’t fail him and Tony breathed easier as he exited his room, watching Rhodey sleep with a bandage around his middle.

He entered his room with a meal and a glass of cider that he had smuggled from the royal kitchens to see Rhodey sitting up, pulling on his green shirt again.

“You look better,” Tony said as he placed the tray on the table beside his bed, nudging Rhodey’s legs to sit on the bed himself.

“Wounds impress you?” Rhodey grinned, picking up the plate of porridge and digging into it.

“You are pretty impressive,” Tony agreed, hiding a smirk before he continued, “your sword on the other hand..”

Rhodey groaned with a mouthful of porridge and Tony grinned cheekily, clicking his tongue in mock teasing.

“Insult a man’s ego, that’s fine. But insult his sword, that’s cruel, Tones,” Rhodey replied and Tony raised an eyebrow at the new name.

“You’re finally catching on,” he nodded in approval, folding his legs on the bed, “So, Rhodey, Jamie, Jim -”

“Oh Lord”

“What brings you to Camelot?” Tony finished, winking at the face Rhodey made.

“Nothing much,” the man shrugged and Tony could sense the lie, the tension in the shoulders and the way his eyes flicked down to the porridge, “Just wanted to see the kingdom.”

“Of course,” Tony hummed under his breath, leaning against Rhodey’s legs a little, “It is quite a wonderful kingdom. Good markets, good sceneries, good weapons.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey dragged the spoon across the porridge and Tony wanted to pat his head for trying to lie. It was nowhere near as good as Tony could, as he  _ did _ , but the man was trying. It was adorable.

“Where did you train?” he asked, deciding to go about a different angle. Rhodey’s eyes snapped up and Tony shrugged, “You have a good arm. I’ve seen enough knights to know what a good fighter looks like.”

“You think I fight like a knight?” Rhodey asked and Tony could detect an odd hopeful note underneath the heavy dose of disbelief or skepticism. He decided to focus on the knights part.

“You were brave, foolhardy, and noble,” Tony grinned, “Seems like a knight to me.”

“You don’t sound impressed with those,” Rhodey observed and Tony shrugged again, eyeing the porridge bowl.

“Some people become knights for the wrong reasons,” he said, choosing his words carefully before looking up and noting a thoughtful look in Rhodey’s dark eyes.

“You don’t think honour is a good reason to fight?”

“If it is directed at the self?” Tony nodded vaguely, “I don’t know, it sometimes sounds like ego or wrongful pride. If it is directed at defending others? That sounds much better.”

“Yeah, that sounds..right,” Rhodey agreed with a distant voice, like he was remembering a past Tony couldn’t see in this room.

“You look like you’d make a good knight,” Tony went for the kill and saw it when Rhodey’s eyes lit up with an unknown hope.

“Because I saved you?”

“Because you listened,” Tony corrected with a small grin, “You didn’t try to make yourself the saviour. You listened and took the option that was right for both of us instead of the path you had decided at first. You were brave when you fought but also smart.”

“And you saved me,” Tony added after a pause and Rhodey snorted, looking brighter now.

“You already know why I’m here, don’t you?” Rhodey asked and Tony raised an eyebrow, “Oh please, I could see when you didn’t believe my lie.”

“Maybe,” Tony conceded and patted Rhodey’s knee, “but it doesn’t make what I just said false.”

“It sounds great,” Rhodey said, placing the empty bowl down and staring at his hands for a minute before looking up at Tony, “You think I stand a chance?”

“It matters what I think?” Tony countered lightly before he breathed out and caught Rhodey’s gaze, “I think you stand a chance if you take it. You won’t know if you don’t try, and you’ve got the skills for the job. So the only thing standing in your way is you giving yourself a chance.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey’s voice trailed but he looked more determined before it faltered, “But that’s not the only thing standing in my way, is it?”

“What?”

“The knights are chosen by the prince,” Rhodey explained, “I don’t have any chance of an audience with him.”

Tony’s expression cleared and he stood up with a slap to his thigh.

“That,” he declared and grinned down at his new friend, “you leave to me. You just get ready to become Camelot’s best knight.”

Rhodey shook his head with an amused smile but Tony felt a sense of determination to get this man the chance he clearly deserved.

He knew that Steve would give him that. After all, there was no reason not to.

Tony waved Rhodey goodbye and set out to meet Steve regarding a new knight’s proposal.

-x-x-x-

“That’s not possible, Tony,” Steve said without looking away from the scrolls he was perusing and glared when Tony bumped into him with a sword’s handle, “What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“Sorry, that, I wasn’t looking,” Tony pulled back the sword on his pile and shifted his arms to carry them better, “What do you mean it’s not possible? Sire, he’s possibly the best fighter I have seen.”

“And you’ve seen a lot of them?” Steve asked as he turned back to his scroll, crossing another line as he finished his inspection of the lot before walking back down the street.

“He saved my life,” Tony tried and Steve frowned, a quick glance over his shoulder before he turned back around.

“You were hurt?”

“In the forest, earlier, yes, well, not hurt but there was a possibility -”

“Tony,” Steve cut him off, “Wait, is that why you didn’t come to the hunting spot as I had told you to? You were out in the forest?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, but I was with - yeah, sorry,” Tony shrugged sheepishly and Steve looked disgruntled, a small scowl on his face.

“Do you ever do as you’re told, Tony?”

“I’d become predictable, and that’d be boring,” Tony grinned, grin dying down when Steve didn’t look impressed, “Alright, bad joke, I suppose. I’m really sorry I wasn’t there, but sire, this man is really good. You’ll see, just give him a chance.”

“It’s not about me giving him a chance,” Steve shook his head as they walked, “If I can give  _ you _ a chance despite your truly terrible serving ways and your -”

Tony bumped into Steve again, purposefully hitting him with a sheathed edge of a sword and apologized with a false contrite expression when Steve glared exasperatedly.

“The point is,” Steve continued, “that this isn’t about chance. This is about the rule of Camelot.”

“The rule?”

“The first rule of the knights,” Steve said with a shrug, “They should be born with noble blood.”

“That’s …” Tony trailed off and Steve shot him a look, his sour mood lightening with a small knowing quirk of his lips, as though unwilling to do so, “a rule, okay.”

Steve shook his head, obviously realizing that it wasn’t what Tony meant.

“I can’t call someone to a trial without knowing -”

“He’s a Noble,” Tony blurted and Steve raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t I say that? Sorry, I should have led with that I suppose. He’s a Noble. Totally Noble...man.”

“Is that so?” Steve had an unreadable expression on his face for a second before it cleared and he shrugged, “Alright, then tell him to come for the next trials and bring his seal of nobility.”

“Absolutely, thank you, sire, I’ll do that,” Tony grinned and followed Steve.

“And Tony?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“You’re going to remove the sleeves from my jacket tonight. Yourself. By hand.”

“...Of course, sire.”

“You do know how to listen, I suppose,” Steve hummed and Tony groused under his breath the whole way to the castle. 

He supposed it would be worth it when he told Rhodey of the good news.

“You what?” Rhodey asked, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as he stared at Tony.

“I know, I’m brilliant,” Tony grinned, legs dangling from where he sat on the high-chair.

“And absolutely crazy,” Rhodey added, “Don’t forget crazy, because this? Is crazy. A Noble? Tony, I’m  _ not _ a Noble.”

“You’re quite noble,” Tony disagreed and Rhodey shook his head as he crossed the room.

“Tony, you lied,” he explained, “You lied to the prince. You’d be lucky if you escaped with your head on.”

“He’s not that bad,” Tony frowned but Rhodey was already shaking his head even more.

“This is wrong,” he said, but it sounded like he was saying it more to himself, “This is getting something you don’t deserve.”

“He’s right, Tony,” Yinsen interjected from his spot, eyeing him with caution, “The code of Camelot cannot be broken. Chester will never let this happen. There is a reason he put this law down, and this is a breach of that. He trusts only those who have sworn their loyalty to the king through generations. You know what happened during the Great War and why the knights were formed. This rule is the one thing he won’t ever break.”

“But it’s not a reasonable rule!” Tony argued, throwing his hands up in the air and staring at Rhodey and Yinsen, “This isn’t the Great War and Rhodey doesn’t deserve to be rejected for the past. Nobody does.” He knew that he meant more than just Rhodey’s situation and caught Yinsen’s eyes softening, the man being the only one beside Nick who knew Tony’s truth. The spell-book that lay hidden under Tony’s bed and the silence on the matter apart from that were Yinsen’s gifts of support, his quiet understanding of Tony’s existence. It had helped that Yinsen had himself been a magic-user in the past. While Nick guided Tony to the best of his ability, he was no magic-user and didn’t really understand the feeling of keeping a part of himself hidden. Yinsen had done so, and Tony valued his support more than he could express. 

“Tony -”

“You are meant for this, Rhodes,” Tony insisted, earnesty winning over caution, “You came this far to achieve your dreams. Don’t let one stupid rule stop you.”

“But this is breaking the biggest rule there is,” Rhodey sounded dejected and Tony got off his chair, walking over and grabbing Rhodey by his shoulder.

“Some rules,” he said, “are meant to be broken. And we aren’t breaking the rule. We’re simply allowing you to get your chance with the trials. Whether you become a knight or not will depend on how you prove yourself, just as all other do. Think of this as letting you open the gates for all those in the future, who are deserving and would not have come forward if not for this attempt.”

Rhodey looked undecided but then breathed out and smiled a little, clapping a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Alright. What do we do?”

-x-x-x-x-

“He’s going to kill him,” Sharon said as she watched alongside Tony.

“Rhodey would never kill the prince, come on,” Tony disagreed without taking his eyes off the ground where Steve was getting ready for his challenge against Rhodey. Rhodey, who had a fake seal of nobility and some swiftly arranged presentable armour thanks to Sharon’s mind and Tony working overtime.

“I meant Steve,” Sharon hissed, “He’s going to kill Rhodey when he finds out. And then kill you.”

“Do you want Rhodey to win or not?”

“Of course,” Sharon rolled her eyes and blew into her cupped palms as they shuffled near the perimeter of the training area, “But I also want him to be alive after winning.”

“One step at a time,” Tony quipped and cheered as Rhodey and Steve took their stances.

When the bell chimed, Tony watched Steve attack, feet sure and hands steady on the sword; he was the force of destruction on control and precision. Rhodey brought up his sword and blocked in the nick of time and fumbled back at first. Sharon blew out her breath near him and Tony rubbed his palms together in mild anxiety.

Steve took a step back and rotated his wrist once, sword gleaming in the sunlight before he moved ahead.

This time Rhodey matched him with his own sword, meeting him in the middle, the blades striking against each other in equal strength. 

The fight picked up from there and Tony watched with a growing grin as Rhodey met Steve’s strategy with his instincts, ramming ahead instead of defending when Steve shifted stance, using his whole body as a weapon as he twisted and bent with precise calculation of space. Steve went for Rhodey’s middle, jabs coming in quick succession but Rhodey weaved and slashed his own sword against Steve’s, sharp and swift in his wrist motion. 

When Rhodey ducked at a swing at his head and smoothly brought out a leg to kick Steve’s feet from under him, Steve was caught by surprise and landed on his back. Quick as lightning, Rhodey was on him, sword pressed to Steve’s chest, right in the center and he removed his helmet with the other hand.

“Good try, sire,” Rhodey panted with a flashing grin, modesty and joy sparkling in his eyes and Tony couldn’t stop himself as he hollered his cheers, even as guards swarmed to take Rhodey away from an annoyed yet mildly impressed looking Steve.

“Well, if he kills us, it would definitely have been worth it,” Sharon laughed as she clapped along with Tony, her smile a mile wide. 

“That was spectacular,” a new voice said and Tony looked to see a lady on a horse trotting towards the ground, her hair as golden as Steve’s and her eyes glancing between Steve and Rhodey, “What was that move you did in the end?”

“An illegal one,” one of the older knights scoffed but the lady didn’t look their way even as her mouth twisted, as though she disagreed.

“He didn’t stab the prince in the back,” she snorted and smirked at Rhodey, who was looking mildly awed, much to Tony’s amusement, “What’s your name, knight?”

“James,” Rhodey cleared his throat and tried again, “James Rhodes, my lady. And I am no knight.”

The lady’s eyes glanced at Steve with a questioning look before she nodded at Rhodey.

“Not yet, maybe,” she allowed, “Well, James Rhodes, congratulations on your victory.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Rhodey bowed despite the guards holding his arms. Tony shared a look with Sharon who was biting back a grin.

“Princess Carol,” Steve finally spoke up, walking towards her with a small smile, “You’re early.”

“I do like to be surprising, Prince Steven,” she replied with a smile before glancing around her, “Though I suppose it is best I go join my people and retire my horse. I’ll see you at the feast?”

“Of course,” Steve nodded and moved to escort her but the princess shook her head.

“It’s alright, sire,” she said, “I can quite handle myself. It was good to see a deserving fight though. I’ll see you later.”

Steve nodded in agreement and turned around to face Rhodes. 

“Who was that?” Tony whispered to Sharon, even as his eyes were fixed on Steve.

“That,” she replied, “is Princess Carol of the Kree kingdom.”

“Steve’s potential bride?” Tony asked with a surprised expression and Sharon shrugged vaguely.

“I suppose so.”

“James Rhodes,” Steve spoke and Tony watched Steve stare at Rhodey unnervingly and Rhodey face his gaze with calm confidence, “I think it is time you met the king.”

Rhodey stared at Steve for a long minute and nodded hesitantly.

“Yes, sire.”

Tony didn’t know why the phrasing made him feel more anxious than satisfied. 

He followed Steve into the castle, watching Rhodey come along with a blank expression.

It looked more like an execution march than an arrival to knighthood. 

-x-x-x-

“I was terrified,” Tony admitted into his glass of cider as he watched Rhodey laugh with Steve across the room, “I can admit it.”

“It was worth it,” Sharon quipped and plopped a berry into her mouth from the nearby table, “I can admit it too.”

“He’s an actual knight now,” Tony tasted the words in his mouth, “Can you believe it? Sir James Rhodes.”

“You’re never going to just call him Sir James, are you?” Sharon eyed him side-long with a knowing look.

“Not a chance,” Tony said cheerfully and made a face when she elbowed him lightly. 

The hall was decked with candles that were slowly dying out and people were laughing along with friends, knights and their company. Tony had watched Rhodey come out of the king’s audience as a knight a few hours ago and now watched as Steve chatted with him, both men clinking goblets and gesticulating around them.

It was the most happy he had felt in months, and Tony drank his cider, catching Steve’s eyes and waving to get a wry smile. He caught Rhodey’s gaze then and saluted with his goblet, grinning as Rhodey returned it with his own. 

This felt right, he thought and relaxed against Sharon.

There was a commotion by the door and a man rushed in, armour in shreds as he made a beeline straight to Steve.

“Sire!” he panted with wild-eyes, “It’s here! The monster, it’s here, in the town!”

“Slow down,” Steve commanded, all business as he stood from his seat briskly, “What monster? Describe it.”

“Body of a lion, head and wings of an eagle,” the guard said, shaking on his feet, “It has already killed more than 10 men, sire!”

Tony felt his breath stutter and his eyes met Rhodey’s across the room. They both knew the monster the guard was talking about.

And then Tony’s eyes landed on Steve and he knew that Steve would go out to face this, even if it would kill him.

Tony had seen the beast survive a sword and break it in two. What would Steve’s weapons do against it?

He swallowed and felt his gut coil even as Steve looked at his knights, opening his mouth to say the words Tony knew he would say.

“Gather the knights, we’re going out.”

Tony breathed out and knew that Steve wouldn’t survive this.

-x-x-x-

“What do you mean he asked you about it?” Tony asked as he flipped the book open, frantically searching for the page on griffins. He had known with some certainty that Yinsen would have some book, some knowledge about strange animals, or magical beings but he hadn’t known that Yinsen knew specifically about this beast. A griffin.

“The prince and Sir James asked me about it earlier,” Yinsen replied, gathering his salves and potions to be ready for when the wounded would be brought in, “I didn’t know anything about it but I told them they were free to check my books. I didn’t think to show them the more advanced magical books and it slipped from my mind later.”

“Here!” Tony found the page about the griffin and Yinsen came over to read over his shoulder, “A griffin is a magical being with immunity against metal and any weapon made from material that is changed from its original form. It is the guardian of the divine and is known to be defeated only by those who hold loyalty, nobility and true honour. Being blessed by magic, it must be defeated by the same.”

“There’s an incantation,” Yinsen pointed out and Tony squinted.

“Nobilis Igni,” he read and looked at Yinsen, “They’re going to need magic for this. Yinsen ..”

“Go,” Yinsen said with a nod, holding Tony’s arm as he turned, “Tony, be careful.”

“I won’t let them see me,” he assured but Yinsen let his arm go with a wry smile.

“That wasn’t what I meant”

Shooting a grateful nod at Yinsen, Tony rushed out of the home and ran all the way through the  castle grounds.

He found James at the entry gate of one of the castle’s wings and rushed to him.

“James, where’s Steve?”

“Tony? What are you doing here?” James looked a bit stunned before he went back to securing the door, “Get inside, we don’t have time. Go.”

“Where’s Steve?”

“He’s busy,  _ hell _ , Tony just go, get to safety, hurry!”

“Bucky!” Tony exploded and grabbed his arm, not caring when James glared at him before frowning in confusion, “Where. Is. Steve? He can’t defeat this griffin on his own.”

“He’s with the other knights at the lower town’s market,” James said and shot Tony an understanding look, “He’ll be fine.”

“No, he won’t,” Tony muttered to himself but didn’t wait to hear an answer and ran, ignoring James’ started yell. 

When he got to the lower town’s market, Tony could see that he could possibly be late. The knights were all lying wounded, those who were there, and there was an absolute mess around them.

Tony’s heart thundered and he looked around for some clue before he caught sight of a blood trail, droplets leading away from the spot.

He followed them and ran, hearing a roar from the distance and picking up his pace.

He was just in time to catch the griffin flinging Steve off his horse into a rock at the gate of the Southern wing.

“No!” a yell choked his throat and he started to run only to be caught around the waist and swung around.

“Tony! Tony, hey, calm down,” he heard a voice through his panic and turned to see Rhodey hold him, “You won’t be able to stop him by rushing in, calm down.”

“You can’t - it - you can’t defeat it with swords,” Tony managed to get the words out, resolutely not looking in the direction where Steve had landed, “It has to be with something else. Something not made with metal.”

“Not metal?” Rhodey didn’t ask how Tony knew or why but immediately began looking around for a solution, “Wait, will a lance work? It has wood.”

“We’ll have to take off the metal tip,” Tony followed Rhodey’s gaze to a fallen lance and scrambled after him to get to it.

“Are you sure you can do it?” Tony asked when Rhodey boarded a horse, the modified lance in hand.

“This is the reason I wanted to fight,” Rhodey replied, grinning before he snapped his faceplate down, “Take care of the others.”

Tony nodded and watched as Rhodey positioned the lance and began racing towards the griffin, his arm raised steadily even as the beast growled and snarled towards him. 

Tony took a shaky breath and opened his mouth.

“Nobilis Igni,” he chanted and watched as nothing happened, “Nobilis Igni!”

The griffin was running towards Rhodey and Tony took a deep breath, feeling a detached calm settle over him as he channeled his magic through his body.

“ _ Nobilis Igni _ ” he chanted, eyes shining gold and the lance lit up with a blue flame, glowing in Rhodey’s hand. The lance held steady and Tony’s breath caught in his throat as both griffin and Rhodey charged towards each other.

Rhodey pierced the burning lance into the griffin and Tony saw the beast explode into blue flames.

“We did it!” Tony hissed and pumped his hands in the air. Rhodey turned his horse around and pulled off his helmet, a look of understanding and respect dawn on his face.

Tony grinned at him and rushed away before anybody woke up, casting a quick look Steve’s way and running with a relieved feeling when he noted him stirring.

He had to hide in an alley for a while before sneaking into the quarters of Yinsen, but he burst in with a laugh.

“Guess what, Yinsen,” he crowed and clapped his hands, “It worked! We did it!”

Yinsen didn’t smile and Tony’s enthusiasm faltered.

“What’s wrong?”

“The royal guards just came to search Rhodey’s room,” he said and took a deep breath, “Tony, Chester found out that Rhodey isn’t a Noble. They’re going to try him in a few minutes.”

Tony felt his stomach bottom out.


	5. Choice Is The Path Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fates are discussed, destinies chosen, and revelations are made - but how far are they interpreted right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's muted discussion of classism here and I'd like everyone to kindly keep the characters in mind before seeking accuracy of eras. Whatever an era might be, racism, classism, and bigotry is always shameful. So, I choose to take this path with it, and hope you will forgive me of liberties with expected outcomes of the scenarios presented.

There was much to be said about the endurance of one who was not born on silk sheets. First, the blood was always less noticed on hay or dirty cotton, and the one who laundered it was probably who stained it, so it was a matter of self-knowledge. Second, it wasn’t unusual to have the womb who screamed through hours to have feet touching and trudging the earth hours after a birth. But most was the look and hopes lavished on a babe born into the darkness of homes with holes; they were never of being resplendent under a crown, but always of holding the cloth to your body through life, and eyes to the path covered by gravel.

The ones born on hard beds were accepting of a hard life. The ones born on soft silk were praised to witness a hard life.

Tony unclenched his hands and breathed in, absorbing all confidence the air could give him, before he could enter the dungeons. He knew that he would probably have a clearer head if he went to meet Steve first but he didn’t know what he would say when he did that. An apology for lying was suitable only if he regretted doing it, and Tony remembered feeling nothing but pride when Rhodey had gotten his knighthood on his merit. He didn’t have his words set for Steve yet, but he knew that he had some for Rhodey. He took a step forward and walked around to the entrance of the stretch where the prisoners were usually kept.

The golden light from the flamed torches glinted on the long spears of the guards and Tony held his head high but not too high, a moderation for a servant, as he walked towards them with a small smile.

“What are you doing here?” the man with a red moustache asked, looking tired but gruff.

“Here to give the prisoner food,” Tony said and lifted his plate with a shrug, “he’s a prisoner but still a knight. Still gets food, apparently.”

Tony kept his tone nonchalant, bored even, and it resonated with the truly bored guards. His mother had told him often that he was good with masks, that he could change them at will. She had said it with her eyes tinged with sadness but Tony had come to rely on those masks for far too many things in life by now. Like basic survival.

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it,” the raven haired one said with a dismissive wave and Tony nodded courteously before he walked in. He didn’t have to go far before he came in front of Rhodey’s cell.

Rhodey stood with his back to the bars, face tipped towards the lone window in the cell. His hands were clasped at his back but lightly, like a man who was at peace.

Tony was at war with himself, and maybe that was why the words slipped.

“I’m sorry,” he said and Rhodey turned his head with a mild frown. Tony didn’t wait for him to react and let the chips fall. “I’m sorry for all of this,” he barged on, determined to finish it, “I should never have pushed you into going with the lie. This is my fault. You shouldn’t be here.”

Rhodey observed him for a minute, taking in his high-strung stance and the expression on his face, before walking towards the bars.

“Is that my food?” he asked and Tony frowned but nodded, “Alright, slide it to me.”

“What?”

“The food, give it to me, I’m hungry,” Rhodey explained, looking down at the plate. Tony opened his mouth and shut it before sliding it under the gap between the bars and the floor.

“So,” Rhodey said after a bite of the bread, eyes flicking up to glance at Tony coolly, “Does anyone else know?”

Tony immediately knew what he was talking about and _that_ was another topic altogether.

“Not...really,” he hedged and Rhodey kept silent, giving him time to decide his next words. “One knows. Well, two.”

“Apart from me?”

“Ah, yes, so, three,” Tony cleared his throat and thought he caught a grin but then Rhodey was chewing through his food slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Did you choose it?” Rhodey asked, shrugging one shoulder when Tony looked puzzled, “To learn it. Or practice it, however you call it.”

“I,” Tony considered going with a lie, an easier explanation than the truth for many reasons, but Rhodey was simply looking at him with an ease that baffled him. “It’s been there since birth,” Tony chose his words carefully, considering they were still in Camelot’s prison, “I didn’t understand it for a while but then, it was just _there_. I’m learning about it in many ways now.”

Rhodey nodded, licking his fingers with care, the way people who fought for the next meal did.

“Do you regret it?” he asked after placing the plate on the floor and sliding it back, standing up to regard Tony with honest eyes, “Having it, using it, knowing it?”

“It’s me,” Tony said, throat tight and skin raw, “It’s who I am.”

Rhodey shrugged and stood right behind the bars, a small smile on his face.

“Then why should I regret this?”

When Tony looked confused, Rhodey huffed a whispered chuckle and rubbed a hand over his head.

“You didn’t force me to join, Tony,” he said with an amused shake of his head, “I’ve always known that this is who I am. I was always meant to be a knight, it was _in_ me. True, you did give me a way to get here but I got here because of what I wanted and who I am. You don’t get credit for those parts, right?”

“I definitely didn’t knock the prince off his feet,” Tony laughed involuntarily, a strain leaving his shoulder even as his chest felt funny.

“And he’d do well remembering that for a while,” Rhodey quipped with a cheeky grin before it smoothed into a fond one, “We all have our destinies, Tony. A purpose and our strengths, both sealed for us in this universe. You played your part in mine and I became a knight. I played mine in yours and you’re standing here instead of facing the prince. It’s not a choice either would change because we meant them when we took them. So why regret now?”

“And I thought _I_ was the insane one,” Tony rolled his eyes but knew that they were minutes away from growing moist. The sheer dignity and honour this man possessed, this disgraced knight who stood as saviour and condemned in a land that probably would never get better, the magnanimity of it shook Tony.

“You’re something, alright,” Rhodey commented and lowered his voice, “and it’ll remain our secret.”

Tony knew, in that moment when the man he had caused imprisonment to promised to keep Tony’s secret, he knew that this was a friendship he needed to earn.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he promised in return and Rhodey sighed but shook his head.

“You’ve done enough, my friend,” he said and cleared it out when Tony opened his mouth, “I know what I saw, Tony. That griffin wasn’t my kill. I’ve already got credit for what was not mine. Don’t risk what good favour you have for me now. You’ll need it to continue staying here.”

“You don’t deserve to be _here_ ,” Tony insisted and heard the clanging of metal armour, “My time is up, but we’ll find a way. I promise you.”

Before Rhodey could say anything further, Tony turned back and left the place, not looking back till he climbed the stairs to reach the common floor by the kitchen.

He had just turned around the corner towards the main stairs when he bumped into someone familiar.

“What’re you doing here?” Tony asked and James raised an eyebrow.

“You’re sure mouthy for someone tight-lipped,” James commented idly, eyeing Tony with a considering look, “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Tony retorted and he knew that he was being curt, knew that this was insolence but James didn’t look offended, surprisingly.

“The seal,” he explained, calm and curious, “How did you get it done? It looked perfect.”

“You’re not very good with this trap,” Tony informed him, quite past subtlety with his nervousness and annoyance spiking, “Usually, people are more subtle with the questioning.”

“And you’re not very good with propriety,” James snorted but raised his hands with a shrug of his shoulder, “I’m not questioning, really, just curious. It was _perfect_. I saw it myself. I know Rhodes didn’t do it because he doesn’t seem a good liar.”

“And yet he managed to become a knight right under your noses,” Tony snapped, instantly cursing himself for making things worse. He took a shaky breath and let it out. “Look, it was my fault, all of it,” he confessed, “I’m...good with my hand. I made out the seal of nobility and got him the robes.”

“You can’t sew”

“I can have skills,” Tony steamrolled ahead, “But the point is, this is on me. I knew that he was good, knew that he would never get through to Steve without a damned seal. Even though he is the best fighter I have seen and I have seen plenty here. Even though he _deserves_ to be a knight, more so than most people. Even though he is brave, and honourable, and loyal. Despite all of these, I knew that he wouldn’t get even a trial to prove his worth without a proof of nobility. Which he isn’t. So I forged him a seal, and got him robes, and gave him a sword.”

“And lied to the prince,” James added, looking smug and Tony felt like he was going to burst.

“I did it for someone who deserved a chance and whom I owed my life to. Someone the prince needs to have as a knight because he is the best out there,” Tony said through gritted teeth, “And honestly? I would do it again.”

“Good,” a new voice spoke and Tony froze, his heart pausing between two beats. James looked over Tony’s shoulder, smile widening into a smirk and Tony turned slowly, his feet feeling like lead.

“Sire,” Tony said and stopped because he hadn’t anticipated on meeting Steve here, staring at him with a poker face and placid blue eyes.

Steve didn’t reply and looked at James over Tony’s shoulder, “You got your answer?”

“Yeah, seems I did,” James replied, laughter evident in his voice.

“Fantastic,” Steve said drily before looking back at Tony, a hint of something in his eyes before it smoothed out, “You’re going to wait in my chambers till I come, no matter when I come. Don’t talk to anyone or answer any questions till then. Is that clear?”

“Steve, I -”

“I asked you a question, Anthony,” Steve demanded quietly, the voice of a future king.

“Yes, my lord,” Tony replied in a low tone and turned around, noting James looking exasperatedly amused before he walked on, not turning back at the prince or his knight.

He knew that he had positively destroyed any chance of solving this that night.

-x-x-x-

“Are you sure about this?” Bucky asked as Steve watched Tony go. Steve looked at him and saw Bucky’s smirk slip off gradually into a more serious expression.

“You heard everything, saw everything,” Steve shrugged, “What else do you think I’ll do?”

“Maybe what some expect you to do,” Bucky sighed but it was covered by an air of agreement with Steve’s decision, “Alright, let’s do this.”

When they crossed the guards, Steve walked ahead and let Bucky distract the guards, luring them into a discussion of some tavern gossip. It was better if they didn’t witness this, for everyone. The name of the prince and royalty was at stake after all.

Steve reached the cell and saw Rhodes sitting against the side wall, eyes closed and finger tapping a tune against his folded knee.

“So, who are you really?” Steve asked and saw Rhodes’ eyes snap open, body tensing into alertness before he looked at Steve and relaxed a little.

“James Rhodes, sire,” he replied, getting to his feet and walking over, “Just as I had said.”

“Just not the third son of Lord Rhodes of the Isle,” Steve raised an eyebrow and Rhodes smirked a bit.

“Father never saw an isle let alone ruled it,” he nodded, “It was a lucky coincidence that you had a name of the man that matched mine.”

“Quite a lot of things seem lucky with you,” Steve commented but Rhodes snorted at it, shaking his head.

“I’d like to believe so but,” Rhodey spread his hands, “reality seems otherwise often.”

Steve didn’t comment on that and took in the cell around Rhodes instead. There was a stone bench running along one end of the wall, a pot in the corner that Steve suspected was much drier than full with water. It wasn’t a place reserved for knights, let alone those who had saved Camelot. But Steve eyed Rhodes again and paced a few steps to the side.

“Why would you lie?” he asked, curiosity overshadowing condemnation in his tone, “Being honest to your king is the most important part of being a knight.”

Rhodes laughed, outright and a little dejected by his tone but Steve waited till he was done.

“If the king cannot see the _value_ of truth when told,” Rhodes began, an age-old tiredness seeping into his stature, “if the truth doesn’t recognize _honour_ , then a knight must be honest to _himself_ first. Honesty,” he shrugged, “is only as valued as the one who treats it right, my lord.”

“So you would prefer being honoured with a lie than earn it through the truth?” Steve countered but Rhodes looked him straight in the eye, observing him keenly.

“Have you ever slept in the rain?” he asked and Steve blinked, keeping up with the shift in topic.

“Once, yes,” he nodded, “we were returning from a battle against raiders and it was nightfall. We had to break till dawn but it rained through it.”

“Ah, but you were in a tent, weren’t you?” Rhodes asked, a knowing smile on his face. Steve paused but nodded again.

“When you sleep in the rain,” Rhodes said, eyes going unfocused as he remembered the feeling of it, “real, pouring rain, you don’t feel cold in the first minutes. It feels cool on your skin at first, balming the tiredness of the day, erasing the burns of the sun in phantom. You find it a friend, a long-awaited one. You put your tongue out and taste it, letting its natural sweetness parch your drying throat. It feels divine. It unites you to your Nature.”

“Then the drops turn into something more,” he continued, a mildly bitter tone tinging his voice, “They clash, hitting each other faster, and you harder. The spots they hit become tender with constant pressure and force to them. You cover your face, because that is how your mind works, in every situation. It doesn’t help though, because your palm cannot hold the unending water and it gets out of your control. It hits and hits and becomes the friend who you never expected to turn foe, even if you saw the signs. You can’t do anything to stop it though, and by the fourth hour, you become numb to it.”

“Why wouldn’t you get inside a shelter to escape it?” Steve asked and Rhodes’ eyes focused again, a bitter smirk falling on his face.

“What makes you think I was outside?” he quipped and shrugged, “I was inside my home. My home, unfortunately, had more holes than roof.”

Steve knew that an argument could be won by incessant questions, but this was more than an argument. This was a disparity in their lives. This was reality and not a situation where a number of solutions could be imagined.

He stayed silent and crossed his arms casually, letting Rhodes speak on.

“We came into the same world, sire,” the imprisoned champion said, meeting Steve’s eyes without fault or fear, “but we do not belong in the same, for what we’re seen worth. Your tent and my home are different, even in the same rain, and we know the rain differently. Truth is a similar concept for us.”

“My truth,” Rhodes said, looking around him, a man inside a barred cell looking more free than Steve did under his royal robes, “is that I always wished to be a knight. I wished for it when I was told I would never be one, and I wish for it now when I have become one, because my wish still seems questioned despite me achieving it. I learnt to fight from whom I sought and whom I met, never who sought me. I made my swords, created my targets out of metal left from what I repaired for my living, and let sand harden my feet into surety. I am not a Noble by birth but I do not seek it either, because I have known far more noble men in those who have carried targets for kings. Unfortunately, that was never accepted to enter a ground with you, and I needed a seal to do so. I did not choose a lie for honour, sire, but there was no path of honour in your truth either.”

“You’re as sharp with your tongue as with the sword,” Steve observed, a small grin subdued by sheer will. Rhodes laughed, head thrown back.

“That I was fortunately born with,” he remarked, “and might as well stay till I am sentenced to my end come dawn.”

“No need for that,” Steve said and finally drew a key from the jacket he wore, slotting it into the cell-door’s lock, “Not when we have a way out of this.”

“Sire?” Rhodes stepped back, looking at Steve and the now open door with a mix of shock and surprise, “I don’t understand.”

“You saved me,” Steve said, letting his mask fall and smiled, “You saved Camelot, even though you knew that your fate could lead you to this dungeon. _Especially_ when you knew that. You displayed courage, honour, and nobility in every sense of the words. Men like you belong in trusted knights’ circles and not dungeons. So I am here to release you, on orders of the king, Sir Rhodes.”

Rhodes looked stunned for a minute and a smile broke out on his face before it dimmed a little.

“What price must be paid for it?” he asked and Steve shook his head, moving forward with an imploring hand.

“None you must concern yourself with right now,” he replied and took the man’s elbow by hand, “Now let’s get you out of this place.”

“Sire,” Rhodes resisted and quietly removed Steve’s hand, looking at him seriously, “please, tell me. What price was paid for this?”

“Sir Rhodes -”

“Was it Tony?” Rhodes asked and Steve could see a genuine coil of tension in his frame, “Did Tony risk himself for this? Sire, you can’t -”

“Tony is _fine_ ,” Steve shook his head, “He’s quite clever and an astonishingly stubborn friend and he’s fine.”

“Then what is it?” Rhodes insisted and Steve resisted a growl of impatience.

“It’s nothing - just,” Steve sighed at the expression on the man’s face, “The king is mildly cross with me at the moment, and refuses to re-initiate you into the knights but it’s fine. I’ll deal with him in the morning. We’ll figure a way out for that.”

“If you do this, what do you risk?” Rhodes asked and shook his head with a knowing smile, “Just your right to the throne, and opportunity to be declared official heir, right?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Steve scoffed but even he could hear how false the assurance sounded.

“You can’t do this, sire,” Rhodey said and Steve threw his hands up but the man continued, “No, listen to me, you must not do this. This is too huge a risk you are taking.”

“You risked your _life_ for this kingdom!” Steve shot back, feeling frustrated with how calm Rhodes was being, “Sir Rhodes, _James_ , you deserve to be a knight. You have proved it in every way possible and I cannot stand here to let this happen to you. You’ve earned this title.”

“And I will earn it again,” Rhodes said calmly, holding Steve’s gaze with a confidence Steve wished he could envy but could only admire, “Sire, _Steven_ , if you truly believe that I deserve to be your knight, then trust me to earn it without questions being raised about my worth or valour.”

“You yourself said it, truth without an honourable path means nothing,” Steve retorted, wondering if this man would even listen to pleading.

“Yes, but I see that there must still be a chance,” Rhodes replied with a small smile, “My lord, I am honoured by your trust in me, and I feel proud to see your honour as a man right now. It gladdens me to know that I would one day strive to serve this land’s people with your leadership. But if you risk it all away for me today, there might never be such a day even if there will be a knight of my name. Your path is far wider than my destiny, sire. Today, there is one James Rhodes you see and accept as worthy. But if the whole of Camelot needs to do so without surprise or hesitation in the future, it needs a leader who is willing to learn and do better. It needs you. I ask you to not do this today, so you might never need to do this for any man in the future.”

“This is unfair,” Steve grumbled and Rhodes’ smile deepened.

“And I need to accept it today so you might work to never let it happen when you have power to decide in the future,” Rhodes said and extended an arm, “I shall return as your knight then, my lord, with pride and honour and no seal of falsehood.”

Steve laughed softly, disbelieving at the continued nobility of this man who had been shunned as undeserving of being Camelot’s knight.

“May Camelot deserve you when you return then,” he said and clasped Rhodes; arm with a shaky breath, “You shall always be awaited, Sir Rhodes.”

“Give Tony my best,” Rhodes answered and eyed Steve strangely for a minute before the expression cleared, “You have a valuable servant in him.”

“And you a worthy friend,” Steve smiled, echoed by Rhodes’ agreeing nod.

Hours later, when Bucky caught sight of Steve, after having come back from wherever he had taken the guards to give Steve time with Rhodes, he frowned.

“Why’re you looking so happy? Did the king agree?”

“Not a chance,” Steve laughed and looked out the balcony, seeing a rider who had long disappeared into the shadows of the moonlit night, “But we lost an honourable knight.”

“And that’s...a good thing?”

“For the future?” Steve looked back at Bucky and grinned, a strange sense of pride in him, “Quite possibly.”

Bucky simply rolled his eyes and grumbled about the mysteries of people everywhere but Steve breathed in the night’s air with a sense of calm.

A noble man’s honesty rang clear in his mind and he knew that he would truly always await the return of Camelot’s best knight.

-x-x-x-

Tony had bitten through half his nails by the time he heard the door rattle lightly and stood up from his spot on the trunk just in time for Steve to enter the chamber.

Steve spotted him immediately and Tony tried to guess his mood by his face but the prince looked away, moving into the chamber with precision in every step.

“Would you like to eat something, sire?” Tony offered, moving forward but Steve walked behind the partition to change out of his day robes.

Steve didn’t reply and Tony felt the silence heavier than a rebuke.

“I’ve refilled your muscle potion from Yinsen,” he tried, throwing hopeful cheer into his voice, “He said to tell you that the dosage has changed from twice a day to once.”

The day robes were tossed over the partition and Tony moved to pick them up but stilled when Steve came out from behind the partition. The prince bent down and picked up the shirt, folded it neatly and moved over to the spot where the laundry basket lay, depositing it in it.

“I never checked for wounds after the battle,” Tony moved towards the nightstand where he knew a bottle of the basic medicine was kept, “Are you hurt anywhere? Any wounds that are -”

“Stop,” Steve commanded and Tony bit back a sigh, his back turned to Steve. He knew that Steve would be angry. The time he had spent alone in the chamber while Steve was gone had been torturous for more reasons than one. He was worried, terribly so, for Rhodey but he had also found time to reflect on how Steve would see things - and that had turned out horrible. Tony had thought about doing the right thing by Rhodey when he had lied and outright cheated the rules of Camelot, but he hadn’t paused to think that Steve had placed his trust on _Tony_ when he had agreed to the trial. He had gone by Tony’s word, the seal being a mere formality by the end of it. He had listened to Tony, who was a servant and one bound to him for merely a week and more, and had taken Rhodey on face value. Tony knew and believed that Camelot’s rule was unfair but how fair had he been to Steve?

The thought that he hadn’t even given Steve a _chance_ to understand the situation struck him and Tony knew the prick of guilt he wished he could ignore.

“Look at me,” Steve said and Tony steeled himself for anger, for disgust and every negative emotion possible as he turned around to face the prince.

He found Steve sitting on a chair, leaning back and -

\- smiling?

“What’s wrong with your face?” Tony blurted and Steve frowned a little.

“What?”

“You’re,” Tony waved in his direction, “doing a strange thing with your face. That thing with your lips.”

“Smiling?” Steve raised an eyebrow, smile deepening a little and Tony pointed at him accusingly.

“Again, that. Why are you doing that? Did you hit your head during the battle? You know you’re supposed to get head wounds treated immediately, Steve, honestly -”

“Breathe,” Steve said and Tony breathed on instinct. Shaking his head, Steve leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees as he regarded Tony.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tony knew that he would be asked this question but imagining it and having it happen in reality were two different things. He shrugged awkwardly and moved a few steps forward.

“Okay, you know how I don’t always mean _you_ when I talk about ‘you people’, but the issue is still the same and it isn’t _always_ the same -”

“Tony”

“Because it was stupid and unfair,” Tony said, simple and honest. He let out a breath and looked at Steve, meeting his eyes with all he was. “The first rule of Camelot is unfair, Steve,” he said, quiet and truthful in the stillness of the chamber that had seen them through an entire year, “It sees the family of a man instead of his abilities. You don’t look at the colours of a baker to know his bread. You don’t ask for a seal from a weaver before you admire their wares. You don’t confirm the lineage of a farmer before you harvest his crops. But you do all three to a man who volunteers to follow you and fight for you, risking everything to be a knight.”

“It was unfair and he deserved a chance,” Tony breathed in and let it go with a calm he didn’t know he possessed, “Everybody deserves a chance. If me lying would give him a chance to prove himself to you, then it seemed a small price to pay.”

“And when he ended up in prison?”

“I expected myself to be the one paying the price,” Tony shrugged with a self-depreciating smile.

Steve stared at Tony for an unreadable moment, intense azure eyes clear in their focus. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I actually meant something else,” he said and laughed hollowly, shaking his head before he met Tony with a wry smile, “I meant why you never told me about the griffin.”

Tony blinked and it clicked. He understood why Steve was asking it, and why he wore that hollow smile.

“It wasn’t like that,” he rushed to clarify but Steve rolled his eyes.

“Really? You didn’t hide it from me because I made you promise that day?” Steve asked, voice going sharp at the last word. He shut his mouth with a click of his teeth and Tony could see the effort it took for him to calm down before he spoke again. “I asked you to tell me whenever you got hurt,” he said, quiet and bitter and sad, “because you end up doing that for me. You got hurt by a spear, a damned spear, because you didn’t let it hit me in the crowd. You have a talent for getting in the way of dangerous objects. I made you promise to tell me whenever you got hurt because you _lied about your wound_ and you keep up your promise by not telling me anything ever again. Because that is always better than being honest, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t get hurt, Rhodey did,” Tony countered and paused, “Where is Rhodey? Did you meet him?”

“He’s gone.”

“ _Gone_? What do you -”

“He was released,” Steve explained before Tony could work himself into a frenzy, “I tried to get him back on the knights but he was a stubborn man who refused till he could become a knight without the first rule. So he left, by the king’s leave.”

“That’s great - wait,” Tony’s eyes widened and narrowed, “How did you try to get him back on the knights? That’s not possible.”

“He deserved it. The rule was unfair,” Steve shrugged and Tony raised his eyebrows before he considered Steve for a minute.

“You honestly mean it,” he observed with a faint tinge of wonder in his tone. Steve raised one eyebrow.

“I feel like I should be offended,” he said but nodded, “but I’m not. I understand why you wouldn’t trust me on that. It’s gone on for long enough, hasn’t it? I tried to talk to the king about it but - well, he wasn’t easy.”

“Oh Lord,” Tony whispered, realization settling in and he stared at Steve, “You risked your crown for this, didn’t you?”

“You’re being dramatic, just like your friend was.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” Tony insisted and shook his head slowly, “I don’t know if I should be impressed or chide you.”

“I thought I was chiding _you,_ ” Steve snorted but Tony grinned, shaking a finger at him.

“You’re impressed with me, I can see it,” he scoffed and Steve rolled his eyes.

“The only thing impressive you’ve done in this whole mess is finding Yinsen for the griffin’s information,” he said and smirked when Tony raised an eyebrow, “I’m pretty good at finding out your truth, huh?”

“I’m an open book,” Tony bowed with a grin.

“ _That’s_ a lie,” Steve scoffed but his expression turned serious, “But you really should stop hiding things from me. I know you’re here for just a week or more but till you are here, you are my responsibility, and I’d like to send back an alive Anthony to his village. Is that understood?”

Tony nodded and Steve smiled easier.

Somehow, Tony wondered about the last week left and didn’t know if he really was happy to leave.

Steve always managed to impress him at the wrong times, clearly.

-x-x-x-

“Tell me more about my destiny”

Jarvis snorted and Tony winced as the cave reverberated with the noise. He held his ground though and raised the torch higher to see the dragon clearer.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, “You said I have a destiny and that Steve is the Once and Future King, but you never told me what my destiny is, or why it’s _me_.”

“It has been a long time since I told you about that, warlock, and yet this is the first time you have come back. What changed?” Jarvis asked, bright blue eyes intelligent in the firelight.

“I don’t know,” Tony shrugged and nodded vaguely, “Maybe I’m finally seeing why you think Steve can be the whole Once and Future King person. And if _that_ makes sense, then I figured, why not try to understand the other half of it?”

“Wouldn’t you rather find out for yourself?” the dragon quipped and Tony scowled lightly.

“Either you know it or you don’t,” he said, “If you do know it and you’re not saying for some curiosity’s sake, then that’s interesting but I don’t have time. I’m supposed to leave in a week. So if you have something to say, say it now.”

“You’re leaving?” Jarvis asked sharply and Tony frowned.

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? I was meant to be here for just a year,” he said and chuckled, “Another thing the Once and Future King did, so I guess he really does have the potential for it.”

“You mustn't leave, Anthony,” Jarvis insisted, “You must never do that, no matter what. If you leave, things will never be the same.”

“Well, if you want me to continue being a servant to someone, you should give me a better reason than a vague prophecy,” Tony countered and Jarvis sighed, a great gust of wind through his nostrils.

“You are as annoying and stubborn as -” the dragon cut himself off and Tony raised an eyebrow.

“As?”

“Somebody,” Jarvis said and looked at Tony, “You really wish to know your destiny?”

“Yes,” Tony said, feeling his heart beat hard against his chest but he had to know it. He didn’t have much time to decide his future and he wanted to take one last chance to make a plan.

“Very well then,” the dragon said and spoke in a voice reflecting of the past, “It was declared during the times of the Great War, by a man as yourself, a servant. But he had the power of the Sight, and he would have been a threat or an ally depending on who knew about it. Fortunately for him, the only ones who knew it were his master and me.”

“This man,” Jarvis said after a pause, eyes glazed over, “sacrificed himself to save his master’s family but told one last secret to his master before his last breath.”

“What was it?” Tony asked, the hair on his nape and arms standing.

“ _What was started by the father must be completed by the son;_

_The crown of the golden haired and the heart of the dragon’s one._

_A new age of peace shall be born,_

_In the destiny of a sorcerer and his sire as pawns._ ”

Tony felt something in his bones tighten as he heard the words and knew that it wasn’t a joke he could brush off. There was something in them, some sort of conviction and promise, that settled into his mind and soul. It was as though a seal had been placed, and he was bound to it.

“You really think that this is my destiny,” Tony asked, struggling to keep his voice strong. Jarvis stared at him with calm eyes.

“My young warlock,” he said, leaning forward, “what do _you_ think?”

Tony swallowed and breathed out shakily as he knew the truth that went unsaid.

When he asked the king permission to continue as Steve’s servant the next day, he knew that Steve was staring at him with confusion.

But Steve wasn’t the one who had learnt of his destiny and had been forced to acknowledge it as true.

Tony smiled at Steve subtly and saw his confusion bleeding away to surprise and a little bit of joy before he got distracted by other matters.

If Tony had his way, Steve would never find out about this destiny. Not till he had actually achieved it.

He stood behind his prince and watched over him.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I repeat this for every fic, but it bears repetition here. Feedback is truly the only thing I, or any writer, can ask and we ask it with cause. It takes a long while to write, edit, finalise and publish a chapter, let alone a fic. As much as I love doing them all, I also don't ask much when I ask for a word of feedback. It would go a long way in keeping a fic alive and a fic writer encouraged. To those who have been commenting all this while, thank you for your kindness. You're my inspiration always.


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